


Unforseen

by Arnaa



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Gen, Sentinel/Guide Bonding, Spirit Animals, Stephen Ellison - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-01
Updated: 2010-11-01
Packaged: 2017-10-13 00:37:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 44,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arnaa/pseuds/Arnaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where Sentinels and Guides are known, a Sentinel finds his one true Guide.  Of course, nothing is ever that simple!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unforseen

With thanks to

Mary Shadinger for allowing me use the Enforcer Guide concept from her Guide Pack series       <http://marysoutpost.org>

Susan Foster for allowing me to play in her Dark Guide universe     <http://www.susans-stories.co.uk>

Becky for the great transcripts of all the Sentinel episodes     <http://www.kelesa.net/transcripts/index.htm>

    And speaking of Becky, after reading Unforseen several people have mentioned similarities to her story Latchstrings.  So now I've read it, here's the official disclaimer.  ":^D  
    My choosing the beach as Alex's dreamscape is just a case of great minds thinking alike.  I tried several different dreamscapes, and the beach was simply the one that worked best for me.  
    I got the concept of Alex as a painter from the scene in Sentinel Too where she and Blair are in her apartment discussing how her artwork has subconsciously tapped into the mystical side of Sentinelism.   
    My sandcastle has no symbolic meaning whatsoever.  It's just there because making a sandcastle is what you do when you go to the beach, and I could see Blair enjoying that activity.  
    Oh, and if you haven't read[ Latchstrings](http://www.kelesa.net/fanfic/latchstrings1.htm.) yet, you should.   It's a great story.

And now with artwork by the talented PattRose!

 

Written while listening to:  
Music vids from the web sites of Rhianne (Sentinel & Stargate) and Star24 (Dark Angel)  
Overture (Prelude) of Tannhäuser: Richard Wagner  
Fourth Movement (Finale) of Symphony Number One in E Minor, Opus 39: Jann Sibelius  
Sons of Somerled: Steve McDonald  
The Mask and the Mirror: Loreena McKennitt  
Wicked Game: Chris Isaak  
Fumbling Towards Ecstasy: Sarah McLachlan  
Dublin Blues: Guy Clark  
Due South Original Television Soundtrack: Assorted Artists  
Romanza: Andrea Bocelli  
Iceman from The Sentinel soundtrack

This story was inspired by reading yet another fanfic which depicted pre-Blair Jim as a mean tempered, emotionally frozen wasteland rescued and reformed into a human being by an open hearted and loving Blair. Although the story I read was actually well-written, I kept thinking “For crying out loud, give the man a break here!” Granted, he’s a tad on the anal/repressive side, but although he chose to work without a partner after Jack went missing, Jim had strong, long term friendships going with Simon and Danny Choi, among others. He and Caroline had remained friends after their divorce, and he had a good working relationship with the rest of Major Crimes, not to mention the personnel of various other departments.

And somewhere in what passes for my brain, the idea was born of writing a fanfic where Blair is the emotionally frozen wasteland rescued and reformed into a human being by an open hearted and loving Jim. In the process, several characters also got a major personality transplant, and a number of unexpected things that weren’t in the original story outline insisted on happening.

So, for what it’s worth, here ’tis.

 

 

 

[ ](http://s71.photobucket.com/user/PattRose1/media/unforseen1_zpsee25560d.jpg.html)

 

 

 

The elevator doors opened without the customary ding! on the third floor of the Sentinel and Guide wing of Cascade General Hospital, a deference to Sentinel sensibilities. Dressed in the black uniform of the Guide Enforcement Programme, his rank clearly designated on the shoulder flashes of his long jacket, Commander Blair Sandburg stepped out of the elevator and walked briskly down the corridor towards the office of Sentinel Dr. Harvey.

The Guide Enforcement Programme had the responsibility of regulating Guide and Sentinel interactions. Any bond violations or requests to sever a bond were dealt with by the Enforcement Programme. The disciplinary tribunal had the right to destroy the pathways of any Guide or Sentinel who broke the laws of either the Guide/Sentinel world, or the larger ‘normal’ world in which they lived. This punishment, known as ‘burn out,’ left the recipient unable to bond or use their talent, and reliant on medication for the rest of their life. It was considered by many to be a fate worse than death.

However, the Programme also dealt with more positive aspects of the Guide/Sentinel world. Its personnel were available to help with a Guide or Sentinel search for those wanting to find their bond partner. It provided Field Guides for unbonded Sentinels who needed help with sensory control, and supported Guides who needed help with barrier control. New bonds were carefully monitored for problems, and any difficulties in a bond, no matter what the duration of the bond, were given the assistance needed to overcome them. In the case of either zone out or overload, a doctor could request Programme personnel for whatever help was necessary at any time of the day or night.

It was on such a mission of mercy that Blair had come to the hospital in the small hours of this night, unaware how this one encounter was going to change the course of his life.

The door to Dr. Harvey’s office was open, and Blair paused a moment to watch the scene before him. The doctor, looking like a stereotypical favourite aunt, stood behind her younger, seated Guide, her hand resting on his shoulder as she leaned forward to get a closer look at whatever he was pointing to on the computer screen in front of them. Then she glanced up and caught sight of Blair, her anxious frown smoothing out in relief as he moved into the room.

“Commander.” Guide Jon Evans acknowledged him with a nod, then turned his attention back to the computer.

Dr. Harvey scooped a manila folder from the desk and hurried across the room to greet him. “Thank you for coming so promptly, Commander.”

“No problem.” _Tonight, insomnia is a bonus for once._ “It sounded pretty urgent over the phone.”

“It is.” She gestured him into a comfortable chair and handed him the folder as she sat down. “Nobody has any idea what Senior Sentinel Prime Ellison zoned on. Apparently, he was in the middle of a conversation with a work colleague, not extending his senses, as far as anyone was aware, and he just keeled over. They brought him straight here, of course, but it was a while before anyone in Emergency realized it was a zone, not some undetected medical condition.”

“Uh-huh.” Blair kept his opinion of the incompetence to himself, but he’d make sure it went in his report. He flipped open the folder he’d been given and read quickly through the information supplied. _Huh, what are the odds? I was at the P.D. checking on that newly bonded pair in Robbery while the Senior Sentinel Prime was upstairs having his zone out._

He finished reading and turned the page to find himself looking at a photograph of the man he’d come to help. Dark brown hair cut military short, light blue eyes, aquiline nose and a wide, friendly smile made up the face belonging to James Joseph Ellison, Senior Sentinel Prime of the Northwest Region. Ex-Ranger—covert ops, no less—and now a decorated and highly respected police officer. _The kind of Sentinel I used to dream of being mine before Alex—_

 _No, **not** going there._ Ruthlessly he shoved the painful memories away, thankful that the white noise generators on this floor hid the spike in his heartbeat from the Sentinel physician next to him. “Sentinel Ellison is thirty-five and unbonded. Is it possible this zone was caused by Fincham’s Syndrome?”

“It’s highly unlikely. Fincham’s starts with minor sensory problems that gradually escalate over time, and Sentinel Ellison was fine when he had his physical last week. And before you ask, I did the examination myself, precisely because he’s at the age where Fincham’s usually starts to show. There were no indications of anything other than complete good health, and believe me I looked.” Dr. Harvey sighed. “The Guides of his Clan have managed to sustain him so far, but no one’s been able to bring him out of it. And his vital signs have suddenly started to deteriorate, which is why I called you at this ungodly hour.”

“I’ll try, of course, but if his own Clan can’t help I’m not sure what I can do. What he really needs is his own Life Guide.”

“We’re working on it. The Senior Sentinel Prime has an extraordinary control over his senses, especially given that he came online so late in life, but obviously zones still occur. He’s also aware of the danger of Fincham’s, so he’s willing to bond when we find the right Guide.”

“Finding a match for a Dark Sentinel can’t be easy.”

Mentally, Blair reviewed what he knew about Dark Sentinels and Guides. Several Dark Pairs occurred in each generation; enough to keep the gene pool active, but still the definite exception to the general rule. A Dark Sentinel was so named because he or she was a more primitive Sentinel than usually appeared in modern times. Physically stronger than a normal Sentinel, they also had stronger senses, and a tendency to go feral when roused either in anger or in the bond. In previous times, such a Sentinel would have been a ferocious warrior.

The counterpart to a Dark Sentinel was the Dark Guide. Again, this was a more primitive Guide than usually appeared in modern times, also with the same feral tendency in either anger or in the bond. This Guide needed to possess a very strong empathy to control the Dark Sentinel without burning out or overloading. In previous times, a Dark Guide was often an assassin, although he or she could also be a shaman and healer as well. Dark Pairs were also notoriously possessive of their mate once bonded, and the academic side of his brain sidetracked into wondering if this was why, on the rare occasions Dark Pairs got married, it was always an opposite gendered Dark Pair who married each other, rather than outside mates. It was hard enough for a normal Sentinel or Guide to find the balance between their spouse and bond mate without having to cope with the added intensity of the Dark Bond.

Blair had read the diaries kept by several Dark Guides, detailed and intimate accounts that were secured in the library vaults of Rainier’s Sentinel and Guide Institute. The journals were the only source of real information about the development of the Dark Bond, which was so deep and intense that, afterwards, the Dark Guide gradually acquired the ability to piggy back on his Sentinel’s senses and use them as his own. That kind of power would take a great deal of empathetic talent to use and control; no wonder it had to be developed over time once the initial bonding had been completed.

He dragged his concentration back to Dr. Harvey and heard her say, “...So finding someone strong enough to match a Dark Sentinel’s power cuts down the field considerably. It’s also necessary to find a Guide who’s happy to bond with a police officer, which narrows the field even further. And on top of that, Sentinel Ellison wants his soul mate, not just someone who’s empathetically compatible.”

“Ah.” _I had that dream once._ “I understand you’re bringing in some out-of-state candidates in the next few weeks.”

“Yes, we’ve exhausted the local possibilities.” She gave him a sudden, sharp look. “Unless you want to withdraw your bonding interdiction?”

“What?”

“Yours was the first name on the list when we ran the profile, Commander. You weren’t approached because of the interdiction, but perhaps now is the time to reconsider that.”

His brain knew the answer to that should be an immediate and resounding, “No!”, but some part of him felt a small, unexpected jolt of pride. _I was first choice to be Senior Guide Prime to a Dark Sentinel._

The Sentinel-Guide world had a simple but effective hierarchy to avoid conflict between pairs living within the same territory. All the Sentinels and Guides within a specified location belonged to the same Clan, with the strongest pairing acknowledged as the Sentinel and Guide Prime of that Clan and area.

The Senior Sentinel and Guide Prime pairing also had their own specified area and Clan where the Sentinel and Guides acknowledged them as their local leaders. However, they also had a secondary territory of a much larger geographical area; this secondary area covered the territories of numerous Sentinel and Guide Prime pairings, who in their turn acknowledged the stronger Senior pair as their leaders.

After the previous Senior Sentinel Prime and her Guide had been killed in a plane crash, James Ellison had become the leader of all the Sentinels in the Northwest Territories almost by default. From all Blair had heard on the very active G.E.P. grapevine, the man hadn’t sought the position; instead, he’d inherited it by common consent when the other Sentinels had agreed amongst themselves that a Dark Sentinel was a fitting leader. That common consent, with no challenges given, was unheard of, especially since Ellison was unbonded; when he did bond, his Guide would automatically hold the mirror position of Senior Guide Prime, the acknowledged leader of all Guides in the Northwest Territories.

_And that could be me._

Blair’s lips curved in a faint smile as he contemplated that, and a sudden, unfamiliar hunger stirred at the thought of belonging to such a powerful Sentinel. Then his brain managed to shove that suicidal urge back into its box and slam the lid shut, screaming at him:

_Are you insane? Bonding means giving someone else the power to destroy you, and with a Dark Sentinel it would be a thousand times worse! Did you learn nothing from Alex, you moron?_

“No.” He was on his feet without realizing he’d moved, the file crushed in clenched fists, his voice harsh. “I won’t reconsider. Not now, not ever.”

“It’s your decision, of course, but under the circumstances I’m sure you understand I had to ask.” Dr. Harvey also rose to her feet as she spoke, and rescued the mangled file from him. Setting it down, she gestured him towards the door. “Let’s see how our patient is doing, shall we?”

In the moment before she followed him from the room, Dr. Harvey’s eyes met those of her Guide, asking a silent question. He nodded, and returned his attention to the computer.

Commander Sandburg had been tempted, even if only for a fleeting moment. It wasn’t much, but it was more cause for hope than she’d had since this particular Guide Search started almost six months ago.

**_It was like watching the world through a dark blue filter. In a jungle clearing, he sat on the bottom step of a flight of stairs leading to a looming stone building covered in creepers and vines, his black panther spirit guide leaning companionably against his legs. Absently, he played with the big cat’s ears, rubbing them through his fingers, enjoying the texture of the fur against his skin. The cat rumbled contentedly deep in its throat as they watched brightly collared birds swoop and twirl in the trees across the clearing in front of them._ **

_**Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled, startling them both. Extending his hearing, the Sentinel caught the soft murmur of another sound, carried faintly on the gentle breeze. He didn’t know this sound, yet as it rose and fell in hypnotic rhythm, it called to him, sliding into his heart and easing the ache he hadn’t known was there until that moment.** _

_**And then the breeze, richly perfumed by the jungle, brought him another scent. One he didn’t recognise, but instinctively knew matched the sound, and the blending of the two filled his soul. On his feet now, he walked towards the enticement, the panther padding at his side.** _

_**They reached the edge of the clearing and he hesitated. He was safe here, safe from smells that overwhelmed and colours that kaleidoscoped, safe from touch that burned and sounds that pierced. He could stay here in the blue jungle with the panther and never hurt again.** _

_**The wolf howled again, louder, and much closer this time. The desolate cry snapped the sound/scent which had lured him this far back into focus, and he had no choice but to follow it. He stepped through the curtain of trees into black nothingness, and his breath caught in sudden fear.** _

_**Still the blended sound/scent called to him, demanding he come closer. He opened eyes he hadn’t realize he’d closed and....** _

...found himself looking into concerned, dark blue eyes framed by long, black lashes. He blinked and his view expanded suddenly to include short, dark curls above a pale, too thin face with high cheekbones and a full mouth.

“Welcome back.” The Guide took his hands, pressing one against his cheek and the other over his heart. “How are your senses?”

“All over the place...” Was that pathetic croak really him?

“Use me to set your baseline, James. You’re safe now, nothing can harm you. Picture a large dial in your mind, you know the drill, turning it down slowly, down, down....”

The voice wrapped around him in a soft cocoon, protecting him from the sensory spikes he knew lurked in ambush after a zone. Under his fingertips against the Guide’s cheek, he felt the faint prickle of bristles just beginning to emerge from skin, felt the shift of muscles forming words. Beneath the palm against the other’s chest, he felt the rise and fall of breath, felt the thump of the Guide’s heart matching the steady, oddly familiar drumbeat in his ears.

And just like that, everything snapped back into place and his senses were steady. Tension he didn’t know he was holding seeped from his muscles, and he finally relaxed.

The Guide smiled then, a gentle curve of his lips that seemed like a benediction to the weary Sentinel.

“Sleep now, James. You’re safe and you will rest well.” The wonderful voice smoothed the last ragged edges away, and the Sentinel followed an age-old imperative to gather the Guide close. His heart exulted when the other came to him without resistance, and he pressed the Guide’s face into the curve of his neck with a hand against his head. He felt the Guide’s lips move against his skin as the soothing litany continued at a level now only audible to Sentinel hearing, the words meaningless except for the cadence of their rise and fall. His fingers carded through the rough silk of the Guide’s hair, massaging his scalp, and he purred in contentment as the Guide arched into the hand stroking over his back. The Guide made a satisfied noise of his own and snuggled his face even deeper into the Sentinel’s neck.

The voice and scent of this Guide had called him from the dreamscape of the blue jungle, and now touch blended with those senses, strengthening their seductive plea. As he drifted towards sleep, the Sentinel’s hand at the Guide’s—no, **his** Guide’s—head fisted the curls under his touch into a secure grip, and his other arm wrapped around his Guide’s waist, pinning him in place. His Guide couldn’t leave now without waking him, and the Sentinel had no intention of ever letting his one, true Guide go.

Suddenly, his Guide stirred in distress, dragging the Sentinel back from the sleep that beckoned so invitingly. Before he could wake enough to find the cause, his Guide relaxed again and made gentle shushing sounds that eased the Sentinel’s concern. He felt fingertips trail down the arm wrapped around his Guide’s waist, then a hand covered his and fingers laced through his own. His hand was lifted, then his palm pressed over his Guide’s heart, the calm, steady beat reassuring him all was well with his Guide, and lulling him into sleep.

** ** **

  
Blair had allowed the Sentinel to pull him close, knowing the additional tactile contact would help bolster the stability of his senses. He expected only the gentle hold that was the typical response of a Sentinel to assistance from a Guide he wasn’t bonded to. Instead, the man had practically enveloped him, pressing his face into the curve of the Sentinel’s neck, one hand carding fingers through his hair and massaging his scalp, while the other hand stroked up and down his back in smooth, rhythmic sweeps.

_Probably a Dark Sentinel thing. Given their senses are stronger than average, it’s likely they’d need more tactile stabilising than usual._

Even as his brain analysed the situation, Blair kept up a flow of meaningless words. It wasn’t what he said but the tone he used that mattered right now, which was just as well because it was becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate.

With his face pressed against the Sentinel’s throat by the hand against his head, his lips savoured the taste and texture of the skin they moved over in forming words. With each breath, he also inhaled the scent on that skin, an intoxicating alliance that steam-rolled over his higher brain function straight into the section of his being genetically hardwired to react to Sentinel input. The fingers massaging his scalp were pure bliss, and he arched mindlessly into the hand stroking his back. He both heard and felt the purr of contentment from the Sentinel, and a small hum of satisfaction escaped him at being able to elicit that response as he snuggled his face even deeper into the Sentinel’s neck.

Then the Sentinel fisted a hand in his hair and stopped stroking his back to wrap his arm around Blair’s waist, anchoring him in place. He was secured now until such time as the other chose to let him go, something he vaguely thought should worry him. But here he was safe, warm, and cherished as he hadn’t been since Alex—

_No, **not** going there! _

The Sentinel stirred in reaction to his distress and he forced himself to relax, making gentle shushing noises. He reached down to trail his fingertips along the arm encircling his waist and laid his palm over the back of other’s hand. Lacing their fingers together, he lifted their joined hands and pressed the Sentinel’s palm over his heart, letting the calm, steady beat reassure his protector all was well.

The Guide followed an instinct that would have terrified the man he also was if he had realised what was happening. But for now, Commander Blair Sandburg of the Guide Enforcement Programme lay in the arms of the Dark Sentinel named James Ellison, and knew peace for the first time in almost five years. And for the first time in five years, he closed his eyes in restful, dreamless sleep.

** ** **

  
Standing at the observation window to the room, Dr. Harvey mentally punched her fist in the air. _Yes, yes, yes!_ The commander’s intellect might still reject the idea of bonding, but this behaviour was far more that of a bonded pair than just a field Guide assisting a distressed Sentinel.

Captain Simon Banks, leader of the Cascade Police Department’s Major Crimes Division and the Dark Sentinel’s superior officer, stood next her.

“Why wasn’t this commander on your list?” he demanded. “It’s obvious from what just happened here that his talent is strong enough.”

Her own Sentinel abilities told the doctor the white noise generators around them were functioning, but she still drew the captain further down the hallway before answering, “Because he interdicted.”

“What?”

“Interdiction means signing a formal declaration that bonding is refused under any circumstances, even if he’s in full overload and it’s the only thing that can save his life. It’s the Sentinel-Guide equivalent of Do Not Resuscitate, because it’s not likely the patient will be in any condition to give consent to bonding at the time.” She saw the look on his face and added irritably, “For heaven’s sake man, under those circumstances, it’s either bonding or agonising insanity and a slow, horrible death. It’s only done without prior consent in extreme cases where there’s no hope of recovery otherwise, and the greatest possible care is taken with the match. In fact, research shows ninety-nine percent of them turn out very well.”

“Which is fine unless you’re the one percent.”

“Look, I know the idea of non-consensual bonding isn’t a comfortable one, but believe me, when it’s necessary for medical reasons, it’s far better than the alternative. But interdiction is always an option, and it’s medically and legally binding, no matter what.” She sighed. “It also means that person is off limits to any Search Committee who wants to keep their accreditation. As Jim’s physician, I did ask Commander Sandburg to reconsider his interdiction, but even that’s skating fairly close to the wind if he chooses to make a fuss about it.”

Simon searched his pocket for a cigar to vent his frustration on. “So that’s it, then.”

“Not necessarily. There’s no reason why we can’t request his services as a Field Guide.” Dr. Harvey smiled blandly, not prepared to share her hopes yet. “Just until Jim’s Life Guide is found, of course.”

He chewed on his unlit cigar and considered the possibilities of that. “All right, let’s do that. At least he looks like he might get out of the truck at a crime scene.”

 

** ** **

  
Safety.

Warmth.

Comfort.

Sentinel.

Who was once more stroking a hand over his back in the soothing rhythm he remembered from the time before sleep.

 _Oh, crap!_   Blair’s eyes shot open as his brain registered that.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

The voice rumbled in the chest beneath his ear. Inhaling a deep, calming breath, Blair pushed up into a sitting position, putting as much distance between them as he could without looking like that’s what he was doing. “Good morning. How are your senses?”

“Never better. I’m guessing I zoned?”

“In a big way. Do you remember what on?” _That’s it man, keep it professional. Nothing personal happening here, nuh-uh._

The Sentinel frowned. “I remember being in the bullpen, talking to Joel about a case we’re working on. Then all of a sudden, someone’s banging a drum—it was a long way off, but it was really loud inside my head, too. Next thing I know, I’m in curled up in a hospital bed with an armful of Guide.”

In spite of himself, Blair flushed. “Sorry about that. You were zoned pretty deep and you needed the extra tactile contact to stabilise your senses.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining.” The Sentinel smiled and held out his right hand. “Jim Ellison.”

“Commander Blair Sandburg, Guide Enforcement Programme.” The barest of good manners dictated he take the offered hand as he gave his own name in return. And, _oh, crap!_   part two. Minute pinpricks sparked on his skin where their hands touched, flaring where Ellison rubbed a large thumb over his knuckles without seeming to be aware of doing it.

 _Mine._ The Sentinel’s emotion slid quietly into Blair, faint but unmistakable.

 _Yours._ His heart answered in the split second before his brain shrieked, _For pity’s sake, man, remember what happened with Alex!_

He became aware Ellison was speaking and sounding puzzled. “You look more like a Jake to me.”

Giving thanks to the white noise generators that hid the spike in his heartbeat at that name, he projected an aura of calm towards the Sentinel. “Yeah, well, appearances can be deceiving. Can I have my hand back now?”

“What? Oh, sorry.”

Ellison released his hand, and Blair took the opportunity to jump down from the bed. He had to get out of here, and make sure he never saw this particular Sentinel ever again.

“Listen, I gotta go. Places to be, people to see and all that.” He backed towards the door, aware he was babbling, but not wanting to give the Sentinel a chance to say anything. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. Take care of yourself and good luck with the Guide Search. I’m sure it won’t take much longer to find your match.”

Out in the hallway, he shut the door behind him and, closing his eyes, sagged against the wall in limp relief. _Just stick your head in the lion’s mouth and be done with it, you idiot! And what the heck was that with him calling me Jake? How could he know—?_

“Commander.”

He jumped, and opened his eyes to see Dr. Harvey, his empathy automatically registering an undercurrent of suppressed excitement. Another time he might have wondered about that, but right now all he cared about was getting out of here as fast as possible.

With her was a man he vaguely recognized from last night. Ah, yes, Ellison’s boss. No attempt to hide emotions here—worry for a friend who was also an officer under his watch, and determination to help him in any way possible. Schooling his face into an expressionless mask, Blair pushed himself away from the wall, warily eyeing the big man instinct warned him was trouble. “Yes?”

The boss man said, “I’d like to discuss the possibility of the Cascade P.D. hiring you as a Field Guide for Detective Ellison.”

 _Yeah, I’ll do that the next time I’m feeling suicidal._ “I’m not available.”

Simon gritted his teeth at the abrupt dismissal, and tried for diplomacy. “I realise being a Field Guide isn’t something a man of your rank would usually do—”

“I can’t help you, Captain.”

“It would just be until—”

“Which part of ‘not available’ isn’t clear to you?” The words were snarled as the younger man pushed past him, and disappeared through the fire exit several feet down the hallway.

 _Oh, that went well._ Simon scowled at the door where the Guide had disappeared, then fished in his pocket for another cigar to chew on.

“Don’t worry.” Dr. Harvey gave him a little smile. “Chancellor Edwards of Rainier’s Sentinel and Guide Institute is my college sorority sister. I’m sure she can clear whatever it is from the commander’s schedule that makes him unavailable.”

“I should check that Jim wants him before we go that far.”

“You do that and get back to me. Then I’ll make the phone call.” She patted the captain on the arm, and walked away humming softly under her breath. _I love it when a plan comes together like this._

******

  
 “Commander Sandburg reporting for Field Guide duty with Sentinel Detective Ellison.”

Two days after their encounter at the hospital, Simon looked at the immaculate, black-clad figure standing ramrod straight in front of the desk, a somewhat battered leather backpack over one shoulder and his mouth set in a tight line. He stared at a spot slightly above and to the left of Simon’s ear, a tactic the captain recognized from dealing with his best detective in a snit.

“Have a seat, Commander.”

“I prefer to stand, Captain.” _Oh, yeah, definitely a snit happening here._ Simon wondered briefly what Chancellor Edwards had used as leverage to get the commander here, and decided he didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was keeping Jim safe until his Life Guide could be found.

“Detective Ellison will be here in a minute. You’ve read his file?”

“Yes.”

“Any questions?”

“No. However, you should know that I will not be available on the nineteenth.”

“That will depend on—”

“This is not negotiable.” His interest in his chosen spot of wall intensified. “I will not be here on the nineteenth, and complaining to Chancellor Edwards will not change that.”

 _And that's me told right where I get off._    “Just make sure you do your job properly when you are here.”

That got his attention. He skewered Simon with a laser glare and the temperature in the room dropped to sub-zero. “I am a commander in the Guide Enforcement Programme. Giving less than my best attention to any Sentinel or Guide in my care is unthinkable.”

“Good, because—" He broke off as someone knocked on the office door. “Come!”

“You wanted to see me, Simon?”

“Yeah, Jim. Your Field Guide’s here.”

“Hey, Blair.” Jim couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face at being in his Guide’s presence again. “Thanks for coming.”

Blair turned his head to give Jim a hard, contemptuous look that caused his smile to falter. In a cold, indifferent voice that rebuffed any offer of friendship, he recited for the second time, “Commander Sandburg reporting for Field Guide duty with Sentinel Detective Ellison.”

Jim shot a puzzled look at Simon, who shrugged and said, “Okay Jim, take Commander Sandburg down to Personnel and get the paperwork done for his ride-along credentials. Standard issue is ninety days, which is convenient since that’s how long he’ll be with us.”

“Simon’s organised a desk for you next to mine,” Jim said as he ushered Blair out of the captain’s office. “Your backpack will be safe if you want to leave it there while we’re in Personnel.”

“I prefer to keep it with me.”

It was hard to believe this voice of ice shards was the same one that had soothed his ragged senses in the hospital. _Who are you, and where did you hide the pod?_

“It’s up to you.” Jim glanced around the bullpen. “The guys I work with on a regular basis are all here, so we might as well do introductions now. We’ll get the others later at the briefing.”

Blair gave each detective careful attention as they were introduced.

Detective Henri Brown turned out to be large, black man dressed in a blindingly bright Hawaiian shirt.

His partner was introduced simply as Detective Rafe, no first name offered. This caused Blair to wonder exactly what kind of dirty work had been done at the baptismal font of the slim, good-looking white man, who looked like he’d just stepped out of a GQ page.

Captain Joel Taggart, formerly of the Bomb Squad and now seconded to Major Crimes, was another large black man, this time older and dressed in a suit.

As they were introduced, each man nodded and gave him a polite smile as they said hello. They were all unaware that each of their empathetic signatures was the equivalent of a large neon sign that said, _Let’s see how long **this** one lasts_.

Inspector Megan Connor, a pretty redhead on exchange from the Australian New South Wales Police Service, piqued his interest. Not only was there no neon sign over her head, there was a startlingly blank space where her empathetic signature should be. He’d never encountered that before.

Inspector Connor scowled at him, almost as if she knew his reaction to her was different to the others. _Interesting._

“Right. Let’s get down to Personnel, then, shall we?”

Ellison’s voice jerked his attention back to the squad room in general. Blair placed both his hands in the centre his back and inclined his head in a small bow towards the denizens of Major Crimes. This was the traditional gesture of respect from Guide to non-Guide, and although he didn’t feel very respectful at the moment, it wasn’t their fault they had a jerk for a captain and another one for their senior detective.

******

 

###### "Well, that was different.”

Good grief, guys! At least let me get out of earshot before you start the pool!   When he’d found out about the betting pool on the first Guide tryout, he hadn’t known whether to laugh or be angry— especially when he’d found out even Simon and his secretary, Rhonda, had gotten in on the action. He’d settled for being kept ignorant of who’d placed what bet, with the proviso that the winner would buy him drinks of commiseration or celebration for the entire night when the contest was over.

So far, all he’d had were commiseration drinks. Although, to be fair, some of those could also be termed celebratory drinks, given the personality of the Guide who’d just departed.

“Personnel is down on the second floor,” Jim explained as they got into the elevator. “Vera’s a little scary at times, but she knows what she’s doing when it comes to filling out forms.”

Silence.

“The paperwork part is tedious, but at least you only have to do it once.”

Another silence. Jim gave it up. “What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?”

“No.”

“Look, Jake—”

And that got a definite reaction. His Guide turned on him, eyes blazing, as he snarled, “That is **not** my name! And even if it was, you do not have permission to address me by anything other than my rank! Are we clear on this, Sentinel Detective Ellison?”

Stunned by the empathetic waves of fury that hammered into him, Jim could only nod. He didn’t know why he kept thinking his Guide’s name was Jake—he’d introduced himself as Blair at the hospital, and that was the name on his official record. But even if he’d gotten the name wrong, this response was way out of proportion to the offence.

The rest of the elevator ride took place in silence.

******

  
In the personnel office, Vera placed a manual and a stack of papers on the counter in front of Blair. “You're required to read the manual, fill out the application materials, and sign the consent form.”

Jim looked at the paperwork involved and grabbed the convenient excuse to leave. “This looks like it’ll take a couple of hours, Commander. Best if I leave you in Vera's capable hands for the duration.”

Blair nodded, and began reading the paper at the top of the pile he’d been given.

Jim finally identified the scent that had been teasing at his nose. “Vera, is that White Shoulders that you're wearing?”

“It's not too much, is it?” she asked, anxiously.

“No, not at all. It's just that whenever I smell White Shoulders, it reminds me of my grandmother.”

“Your grandmother,” Vera repeated.

Jim saw Blair’s lips twitch at her tone, almost like he was fighting a smile. “Right.” _What did I say? My grandmother was the classiest lady who ever lived._

“Don't you have someplace to go, Detective?”

Sheesh, there’s nothing like subtlety and that’s nothing like it. Maybe Carolyn can tell me where I screwed up here.

“Good luck,” he offered to Blair, and left before he could get himself in any more trouble with either Vera or his Guide.

“Commander Sandburg, the department requests all incoming personnel to submit a urine sample for a drug test.” Vera’s voice floated through the door after him, haunting his steps. “I’m sure that won’t be a problem for you.”

******

  
Ninety minutes later, forms completed satisfactorily and plastic sample container adequately filled, Blair left Personnel and headed back up to Major Crimes. He didn’t know where Ellison was, and cared less. After today, there would only be eighty-nine more days to go, and he would survive every one of them. He had survived worse in his life, and he wasn’t about to give Chancellor Edwards the satisfaction of cancelling his research grant.

It hurt, though, more than he was prepared to admit, that James Ellison had used his position as Senior Sentinel Prime to override Blair’s refusal to be his Field Guide. He remembered the flash of pride he’d felt at being first choice for this man’s Life Guide, how he’d felt in his arms at the hospital, and worst of all, remembered the temptation the Sentinel had offered.

Blair felt like all kinds of fool for that one. Even if reality had bitten in the morning, for the first time in his life, he’d actually felt the seductive pull of a Sentinel towards a Guide. He mentally kicked himself for the hundredth time for being gullible enough to think the man was special, when in reality he was just a spoiled brat who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Then he’d had the nerve to thank Blair for coming, like he had chosen to be there of his own free will!

And what was this thing about calling him Jake? First in the hospital, then this morning in the elevator...okay, that last one had been a bit of an over-reaction, but hearing that name come out of Ellison’s mouth had stung him raw. He didn’t need reminders of what he’d lost thrown in his face, especially by a knuckle-dragging Neanderthal who used blackmail to get what he wanted.

Still, at least he knew Ellison’s true colours now, and that would help him keep his distance. All he had to do was show up, be the competent professional he was more than capable of being, then go home. And surely the man would have some days off, which meant in reality there were less than eighty-nine days to go.

On that cheering thought, he stepped through the elevator doors as they opened. In Major Crimes, he discovered Connor, Brown and Rafe working at their desks, but was pleased to also find a distinct lack of Ellison in the room. Ignoring the detectives, he crossed to the desk he’d been told was his and pulled the procedure manual from his backpack. He’d read it as required, but had startled Vera by asking for a copy to study further. He wasn’t going to make any mistakes on **this** job.

Besides, there had to be a way to get a sellable journal article out of this assignment—something about functioning in the closed society of the police force, or maybe that thin blue line thing would work. The Sentinel angle would give the article added interest...

The thought trailed off as he became aware of scrutiny. He looked up to find Connor watching him, her face hard and her mouth tight. She didn’t look away when he met her gaze, and again his attention was caught by that blank space where her empathetic signature should have been.

That blank space puzzled him. Every human being had an empathetic signature simply because they experienced emotion, whether a ‘normal’ without enough empathy to register as even a weak Level One, or a rare Level Twelve like himself. It was possible for a high-level empath like himself to shield his empathetic signature and prevent it from being casually read. He’d done so for so long now he maintained the shield automatically, but any empath would recognize the shield for what it was.

Curious, he extended his mind and pushed gently against that blank space. For a moment it held, then it dropped aside like a curtain to reveal a signature like no other he’d ever encountered. Something flickered in her eyes, and he realized she had felt him read her, which added to his puzzlement.

Normally, reading an empathetic signature didn’t touch the other person’s mind any more than noticing the colour of their eyes would. But then, he had never needed to extend his mind to read a signature before, either. He had no idea what Connor was, but it was obvious she had a strong talent of some kind.

Captain Banks chose that moment to erupt from his office and demand, “Is your paperwork organised?”

Reluctantly, Blair dragged his attention away from Connor. “It’ll be processed today, and I can pick up my pass in the morning.”

“Where’s Ellison?”

“I’m his Field Guide, not his keeper.”

The captain gave him a hard look. “Then you can make yourself useful by helping Connor set up for the briefing we’re having in thirty minutes. Connor, conference room eight—you know the drill. Rhonda has the paperwork.”

Blair considered telling the captain setting up briefings wasn’t in his job description, and then realised this was the perfect excuse to spend time with Connor. Maybe even find out more about that odd signature of hers.

He carefully stashed his backpack in the bottom drawer of his desk before following Connor across the bullpen to Rhonda’s desk. There the captain’s secretary handed Connor a stack of files and Blair a box containing glasses and several water jugs. He carried them from the room, trailing after Connor once again, her tight-lipped silence giving way to a dark muttering once they were out of earshot of Major Crimes.

“‘Connor, conference room eight—you know the drill’.” Her impersonation of the captain’s gravel voice was impressive. “Of course I bloody do, ’cause I’m the bunny you always send to set it up. What, setting up is a girl thing in your little pin head? Or maybe it’s an Aussie thing. Well, this little Aussie girl has had about enough from you, Captain Underpants— **What**?”

The last was snarled at Blair as he gave a choke of laughter. “I just thought the Captain Underpants reference was funny. I loved those stories when I was a kid.”

“Yeah, me, too.” Her anger softened slightly. “Here we are.”

The large room had a long table, with chairs pushed up to it, running through the centre, with a tiny kitchenette at the far end. Blair carried his box to the end of the table closest to the kitchenette and set it down. Extracting the water jugs, he carried them to the small sink and filled them, then found a place for them in the small bar fridge. Captain Banks struck him as a man who would expect the water to be cold.

Connor, who had started sorting and distributing the files while he filled the water jugs, suddenly swore loudly. He glanced around to see most of the files had ended up on the floor at her feet, and he hurried to help her collect them.

As they scrabbled the files together, their hands touched. A quick glance at Connor’s startled face showed she’d also felt the flash of energy between them; energy that matched her empathetic signature in that it was also like nothing he’d encountered before.

Taking a deep breath, Blair stood, making sure he kept eye contact with her. He held up both his hands, palms out, fingers spread apart and waited for her reaction. He knew, without knowing how he knew, that she’d understand what the gesture meant.

For a long moment, she didn’t move, then she slowly stood up. Hesitantly, she laid her palms against his and intertwined their fingers. He reached towards her mind very carefully, aware of how much damage his power could do if he made a mistake, especially when dealing with such an unusual signature.

Images slowly filled his head as their minds brushed. A brother, younger, red-haired, named Tommy. Adored and adoring in return. Balm to the heart of the only member of a high-level empathetic family without a scrap of talent. His death still a jagged wound in her soul after all these years.

Very gently, he sent her images of Alex as she had been before the attack. Tall and vital, fiercely protective of her beloved little brother. So proud of being a Sentinel her tribe trusted to keep them safe. Images of her now—still and silent, fed by machines, her life slowly fading away in a hospital room. A gaping wound in his own soul that would never heal.

Unexpectedly, something reached out from her mind towards his; dark purple tendrils that wrapped around him, strengthening, shielding, and keeping him safe. The pain of his sister’s loss was still there, but somehow it didn’t hurt quite as bitterly as it had before. And as the connection flared higher, other memories flowed between them until each knew the other’s life history as well as they knew their own.

The link faded and the pair found themselves sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall for support, their arms wrapped tightly around each other. Blair felt his mind buzzing with the new input as he struggled to understand what had just happened. Memory sharing was something that only occurred during the bonding process, which this hadn’t been. Megan wasn’t an empath in any recognized sense, but she definitely had serious power of some kind...

Something jumping up and down at the back of his brain trying to get his attention finally used hobnailed boots, and understanding snapped into place. Of course! It was the only thing that made sense.

“Wow!” Megan murmured, when she was finally capable of speech again. “Nothing like that’s ever happened to me before.”

“Me, either. You’re a very unique woman, Megan Connor.”

“Yeah, right. If having less than zero talent counts as unique.”

“You’re my Shield.”

“What?”

“Some of the ancient texts mention rare occasions when a Guide would have someone called a Shield to strengthen and support them empathetically, to provide food and shelter and even physical protection, if needed.”

“I thought that was the Sentinel’s job.”

“If they’re bonded, yeah. But until then, it was the Shield’s job to keep the Guide safe and provided for. And once the Guide bonded, the Shield was the one person the Sentinel trusted to protect and provide for his Guide when he had to leave his side for any reason. The Shield was also the one person the Guide trusted to protect and provide for his Sentinel if he couldn’t be there. Sentinel, Guide and Shield stood together in battle and in council, as protector, justice and vengeance of the Clan.”

“I’ve never heard of that before.”

“The last documented Shield was almost two hundred years ago. Now, there’s you.”

“But—but—I can’t be one of those Shield things! I told you, I have less than zero talent—”

“I’m a Level Twelve, Megs.” Unconsciously, he used the nickname her memories had told him Tommy had called her by. “When we linked, I could feel you inside my head, making me stronger, protecting me. Making what happened with Alex hurt a little less than it did before, because you’re here.”

“I didn’t— I don’t know how that happened!”

“But it did happen. That means your talent level is at least equal to mine, maybe even stronger. It’s just that your empathetic signature is so different to the usual pattern, it wouldn’t have registered in the standard testing procedures.”

“I used—” She stopped, swallowed hard, then continued, “I used to have a link with Tommy. I always thought it was something he’d made happen between us, something that I could feel because he was my brother. But it wasn’t, was it?”

“No. You were his acting as his Shield without knowing it.”

“Wow.” He felt her wonder as she absorbed that. “All those years of being sneered at for not having any talent, and I’m the first Shield in two centuries.”

“I’d like to run some tests with you, if that’s okay. Find a way to measure how strong your talent is, and see exactly what you can do. I know the basic role of a Shield in ancient times, but I’d like to research the details, see how it can be applied to us in the 21st century.”

“Okay, but I don’t want anyone else to know about it until you can prove what I am.”

“Fair enough.” He could feel her fear of being mocked as she had been in childhood, and projected comfort and reassurance. “We won’t say anything until you’re ready.”

She nodded against his shoulder, then said quietly, “Tommy hurts less, too.”

His watch suddenly beeped, signalling the hour loudly in the still room. Megan suddenly stiffened in his arms and glanced anxiously at the wall clock. “Oh crap, look at the time! The mob will be here for the briefing any minute, and we’re not organised yet.”

“Relax, we’ll be fine.” He let her go and climbed unsteadily to his feet. “Whoa, head rush.”

He helped Megan to her feet, and they steadied each other for a moment until they were both balanced again. Then he began setting out the glasses while she grabbed the files from the floor and started distributing them around the desk as she said, “Oh, and, Sandy?”

“‘Sandy’?” Blair repeated in disbelief.

She flushed a little. “Your last name is Sandburg. No Australian worth their salt would let you get away with not being called ‘Sandy’. ”

“Oh, it’s an Australian thing.” He grinned at her. “Can’t fight that, then. What were you going to say?”

“You know how a Sentinel or Guide is allowed to do whatever it takes to protect the other without any kind of sanctions afterwards? Well, I was just wondering if a Shield has the same privileges.”

“I don’t know. I can add it to the research list, if you want.”

“I want. ’Cause if I do, I’m gonna break both Ellison’s legs with a sledgehammer for blackmailing you into being his Field Guide.”

For a moment, he allowed himself to dwell on that attractive picture, then got a grip. Even if her status as Shield protected Megan, his grant would definitely be history, along with his academic life—and quite possibly his G.E.P. career—once Chancellor Edwards found out.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but, you know, if he hadn’t done it, we would never have met.”

“True. Maybe he can keep his legs intact, then.”

At that moment, the door opening to admit the first of the briefing attendees ended their conversation. They shared a quick smile and hurriedly finished their duties before Captain Banks arrived to demand an explanation for the delay. That was somewhere neither of them wanted to go.

******

  
The next morning Jim sat in his usual place, scowling at the paperwork haunting his desk. A small rain forest had died just for this series of triplicate forms, and he was sure there were more of them now than there had been when he left last night. All the other detectives were having the same fun as he was, although Connor seemed especially afflicted with a stack of files perilously towered on her desk.

_And it couldn’t happen to a nicer person._

A steady, thumping sound hovering on the edge of his hearing distracted Jim’s attention from that vengeful thought. He concentrated on filtering out the other sounds around it, following its upward movement, wondering why it was somehow familiar.

Good grief! Whoever was banging that drum was in the elevator. Simon would have something to say if they were stupid enough to bring it into Major Crimes.

But that seemed just what the idiot with the drum was doing. The elevator doors dinged open on the seventh floor, and the thumping proceeded the short distance along the hallway towards Major Crimes. Jim glanced at the other detectives, but none of them seemed to have noticed the noise. What was wrong with these people?

A moment later, he found out as the door pushed open and Blair Sandburg walked in, accompanied by the thumping sound. His leather backpack was slung over one shoulder and his newly-minted police field Guide identification hung on a chain around his neck, but there was no sign of a percussion instrument of any kind. He paused just inside the door, checking the room as if he expected some kind of ambush, and raised an eyebrow at Jim as he became aware of his scrutiny.

 _And your problem is...?_ the eyebrow said as clearly as any words, before the dark blue eyes moved past him to Connor.

Jim watched in amazement as the hard face softened and a smile curved the full lips. A quick glance at Connor showed she was even smiling back, which was scary. The entire bullpen was prepared to bet their combined net worth that she had no idea how to smile—and dammit, what **was** that noise?

Blair moved towards the desk he’d been assigned and the noise went with him. In that moment, the clue bus finally arrived, and Jim flushed as he realized the thumping noise he’d been tracking was the other man’s heartbeat. Good job he hadn’t said anything to the other detectives about the drum-wielding maniac he’d thought was coming.

He looked down at his paperwork, pretending to read yet another form while he thought about what that meant. He’d tracked heartbeats before, but it had always required deliberate concentration on his part, and left him with a serious headache afterwards. This time he’d latched on to Blair’s heartbeat without conscious thought, and it had been louder and clearer than any he’d ever heard. And weirdly, the background noise had stayed at normal level even when he’d extended his hearing to track the heartbeat.

The Guide’s heartbeat was a primary Sentinel tool for monitoring Guide safety and well being; any spike in heart activity would bring the Sentinel charging onto the scene ready to destroy whatever had caused the upset. But from what other Sentinels had told him, the Guide heartbeat was a soothing, almost sub-audible murmur in the background unless they either deliberately listened for it, or their attention was grabbed by a spike.

But this heartbeat still echoed in his ears like a drum impersonation. He pictured a dial in his mind and concentrated on slowly turning it down, hearing the heartbeat grow fainter until it abruptly disappeared and he couldn’t find it again. The silence was oddly distressing, even though he could see his Guide safe and well, only a few feet away.

“Hey, Sandy. I brought you something.”

Connor’s voice made Jim look up. Blair had hung his jacket on the coat rack and was at his desk, removing the police procedure manual from his backpack. He laid the manual on his desk and turned to face Connor, who offered him a blue Tupperware container. Instead of taking it, Blair crossed his arms over his chest, palms flat with the fingertips resting against his collarbone. He inclined his head in a small bow towards her and said solemnly, “I am honoured.”

And if that wasn’t weird enough, after a startled moment Connor placed the container on the desk before she mirrored his stance and returned the bow. “The honour is mine.”

Then she picked up the container and held it out to him again. This time he took it, and removed the lid to extract two round, obviously homemade cookies stuck together with a yellow filling.

“It’s an Australian biscuit,” Connor explained. “They’re called Yo Yoes.”

Blair took a bite, and an expression of delight crossed his face. “This is delicious. What’s in it?”

“Mostly butter and icing sugar—what you lot Up Over call confectioner’s sugar—and custard powder. It’s my [nana's recipe](http://arnaa.bravehost.com/FANFIC/THE%20SENTINEL/STORIES/YO%20YOES%20RECIPE.HTML)."

“Thanks, Megs. These are great.”

“You’re way too thin, Sandy. Gotta get you fattened up somehow.” Radiating happiness, she patted him on the cheek, collected an armful of the files stacked on her desk and left the room.

“Okay, what the hell was that?” Jim demanded into the stunned silence she left behind.

Finishing his cookie, Blair stashed the carefully resealed container safely in his backpack. “Guide business.”

“Connor isn’t a Guide.”

Blair merely shrugged. “There’s more than one way to Guide.”

And that was apparently all he had to say about that. He settled into his chair, fished his glasses out of his shirt pocket and began reading the manual. Around him, the other detectives looked at Jim in confusion, and all he could do was shrug in equal confusion before turning his attention back to his own paper work.

_Welcome to The Sandburg Zone, guys._

******

  
The next evening, it was brought to Jim’s attention that general confusion had ensued among the Guides throughout the P.D., who had somehow heard all about the bowing incident. According to Guide Prime David Sutherland, bonded to Sentinel Prime Edwards, Jim’s second-in- command in the Cascade Clan, the reason for the confusion was simple.

By bowing first Commander Sandburg, a rare Level Twelve empath, had shown public respect to Megan Connor, a normal, as a higher-level empath. By returning the bow, Connor had accepted that respect as her due.

Jim could only shrug. “Don’t ask me. He said was a Guide thing.”

“But Connor isn’t a Guide,” Edwards pointed out.

“That’s what I said, but he reckons there’s more than one way to Guide.”

“True, in that different-level empaths Guide in a different way,” David agreed. “For example, a low-level empath who works as a counsellor Guides in a totally different way to a bonded Guide with his Sentinel.”

“Look, all I know is she said she had something for him, he did the bow thing and said he was honoured, then she did the bow thing back and said it was her honour, then she gave him the cookies. There was some chitchat about what was in the cookies, and it being her nana’s recipe. Then she said he needed to be fattened up, patted him on the cheek and went away.”

“And that was it?”

“Well, until this morning when she brought him something from the bakery. Oh, and she ruffled his hair instead of patting his cheek and there wasn’t any bow thing, either.”

There was a short silence, then Edwards asked, “There’s no chance she’s a latent Guide?”

“No,” David answered positively. “The woman doesn’t even have an empathetic signature.”

“What?” both Sentinels asked in surprise, and Jim added,

“I didn’t know that was possible.”

“Theoretically, it isn’t.” David gave a little shiver. “It’s creepy, like a non-empath looking at someone with a blank space where their face should be. Most of the Guides in the P.D. try to stay away from her.”

 _Which would be an additional reason they’re perturbed about this bowing thing,_ Jim realized. Out loud, he said, “Well, you guys let me know when you figure it out. In the meantime, I’m getting another beer.”

******

 

By the end of the first week, Jim realised he was going to need serious dental work if he kept grinding his teeth like this, but the prospective dentist was the lesser of two evils. The alternative was to thump Connor, but even with his military experience, he wasn’t entirely convinced he could take her. Still, he might have given in to the temptation to find out, except for the melancholy surety that his Guide would not forgive him in this lifetime or the next if he laid so much as a finger on his precious ‘Megs’. And Blair was already mad enough at him for whatever incomprehensible reason without adding that to the list.

His Guide continued to address Jim as Sentinel Detective, unless he was feeling even snippier than usual when it was Senior Sentinel Prime. Simon was ignored unless duty required otherwise, and was always addressed formally by his rank in a tone that, while not disrespectful in any way that could be commented on, nevertheless managed to indicate contempt for the man behind the rank. To the other detectives, he was polite and helpful without encouraging any friendly advances.

But Megan Connor was an entirely different story, and that annoyed Jim even more than it would have if anyone else had been involved. She continued to call his Guide ‘Sandy’ and he let her do it. Everyone else still called him Commander, Jim included. Connor also made it very clear, very fast, that calling her ‘Megs’ was a privilege extended only to Blair.

His Guide smiled at the infuriating woman every morning as he ate one of whatever treat she gave him, before stashing the rest safely away in his ever-present backpack. He had never smiled at Jim, not once in the entire seven days, and he had never once offered to share his treats, either.

When she delivered the daily treats, Connor would pat Blair’s cheek or ruffle his short curls, and he let her do that, too. Sometimes he even let her do it when no treat delivery was involved. Anyone else would have drawn back a bloodied stump, Jim included. Twice Blair had wrapped his hand around Connor’s wrist when she’d touched him, and they’d just looked at each other for a time without saying a word. That was weird, even for them.

The one person who’d dared to suggest, in rather crude terms, that the pair were a romantic item would need serious counselling for the foreseeable future to recover from Connor’s response. The general consensus in the bullpen was that, given she carried a gun and wasn’t afraid to use it, the idiot had gotten off lightly.

Out in the field, his Guide was professional and efficient. He followed the Sentinel wherever he went, including into a crime scene that had hardened veterans fighting to keep their stomachs under control, helping Jim make the most of his enhanced senses without letting whatever bug was up his butt interfere with that. While Jim admired his ability to detach, the Sentinel was fighting an increasing urge to shake his errant Guide until his teeth rattled. He wanted the Guide from the hospital, the soothing, intoxicating influence who spoke to his soul, not this cold, plastic clone he’d somehow been tricked into accepting.

When the Carson case was over— _Please, **please** let it be over soon!_ —and downtime became possible again, Jim was going to take several days off. Maybe even a week. Hopefully, it would lessen his homicidal thoughts towards Connor if he didn’t have to see her every day, and give him some space to figure out what to do about his Guide. Until then, he had another interminable briefing to sit through.

This briefing was like any other until almost the end, when Simon recited the continuing stake out schedule. “Brown and Rafe for tonight, Ellison and Sandburg tomorrow, Taggart and Connor tomorrow night.”

“Captain, tomorrow’s the nineteenth.” It was the first time Blair had spoken in one of these meetings, and everyone looked at him in surprise.

Simon was the first to recover. “So?”

“As I told you my first day here, I’m not available on the nineteenth.”

“Well, your social life is just going to have to take a back seat for once. This is important.”

“I am not available tomorrow.” There was no defiance in his tone, just an iron-clad determination not to be among those present the following day.

“If I could make a suggestion,” Megan cut in before the ballistic reply rising in Simon could be uttered. “Joel and I could swap shifts with Ellison and Sandy. There isn’t any reason why not, is there, Captain?”

Simon glowered at her, but one thing he’d learned on his way up to Captain was when not to push an issue. “That all right with you, Joel?”

“Yeah, no worries,” the big man replied, using the term he’d picked up from his Australian partner.

“Are you sure you can manage to grace us with your presence in time for the night shift, Sandburg?” The sarcasm was cutting and he felt a nasty little spurt of satisfaction when the commander flinched. He almost flinched himself at the glare Connor sent him in return as she patted Sandburg’s arm reassuringly.

“I’ll be here, Captain.”

“Make sure all your paperwork is done before you leave tonight, Commander.” It was a petty victory, but at this point he’d take what he could get. “Right. We’re done for now, people.”

Various bits of paraphernalia got shuffled together and people began leaving the room. As he shuffled his own stack of papers into a tidy stack, Simon gave Sandburg an extra glare for good measure, then shook his head in disbelief.

Until a week ago, he’d have bet everything he owned Megan Connor didn’t have a maternal bone in her body, while laughing hysterically in the face of anyone who suggested she’d go into Mother Hen Mode over the stone faced commander. But now said stone face was smiling at the red-haired detective as they stood off to the side, one of his hands loosely wrapped around Connor’s wrist for skin contact to aid the process of silent communication between them.

High-level empaths could communicate silently with each other if they chose to, and as their bond matured, a Sentinel and Guide pair also developed the ability to communicate without words. Simon could just about live with that, but it took a powerful empath to manage this level of communication with someone as totally devoid of empathetic skills as Connor. Yet here she was, relaxed and smiling, giving every indication of being totally happy about Sandburg rummaging around in her head. It gave Simon the creeps.

Whatever mysterious communication they had to share with each other didn’t take long. They broke contact, picked up their paperwork and left, still without uttering a single word. It was then Simon became aware of the glowering presence in the otherwise now empty room.

“What?” he demanded sourly. He didn’t need any empathetic ability at all to realize the Sentinel was not a happy camper, and Simon had had just about enough for one day, thank you so very much.

“Where’s he going tomorrow?”

No need to ask who ‘he’ was. “What am I, his keeper?”

“You don’t know?” The scowl deepened. “Okay, that does it. I’ll just have to borrow a car from the vehicle pool and follow him.”

“Wait a minute! The police vehicle pool is not for use in your private fishing expeditions.”

“Simon, he’ll recognize the truck if I try following him in that.” Jim didn’t actually use the word _duh!_ , but it was definitely implied.

“If you want to know that much, why don’t you just ask him?”

“He’s not going to tell me where he’s going when he didn’t even tell me he was taking the day off,” Jim sulked. “I bet ‘Megs’ knows where he’s going.”

There was a brief silence while Simon considered the implications of that, then he threw up his hands in defeat. “Oh, all right, all right. I’ll authorise a car for you, but if you get so much as a scratch on it, I’m taking it out on your hide. And you’d better make damn sure you don’t do anything I’ll have to explain later to someone further up the food chain.”

“I won’t.”

“If Sandburg catches you, I’m going to deny we ever had this conversation.”

“Spoken like a true leader, sir.”

“Just shut up and get me the authorisation form before I change my mind.”

******

 

 [](http://s71.photobucket.com/user/PattRose1/media/unforseen3_zpsff55ce6d.jpg.html)  


  
And so it was the next morning, Jim sat in the car he’d borrowed from the police vehicle pool, and waited for his Guide to make an appearance. The rational part of him knew he was invading Blair’s privacy in an unforgivable way, but the rest of him wasn’t backing off.

 _Besides,_ he reasoned, _Guides shouldn’t keep secrets from their Sentinels_.

 _You’re not his Sentinel,_ his conscience retorted.

_Am, too. He just doesn’t know it yet._  
 _  
And which part of ‘doesn’t know it’ is different from ‘not yours’?_

_Oh, shut up!_   Jim barely resisted the urge to thump his head against the steering wheel. _Just great, Ellison. You’re surveilling the man’s apartment at the crack of dawn while having an argument with yourself. The men in white coats will be along to collect you any minute now._

It was nine o’clock before he caught sight of his quarry, interrupting the paranoid scenarios his bored brain had begun to present for his inspection. Chief among those scenarios was the suspicion Blair actually had nothing in particular to do this day, that he’d just insisted on having the day off to yank Simon’s chain, and Jim was going to spend the rest of this day waiting for something that wasn’t going to happen.

Blair finally left his apartment, dressed the usual black uniform and wearing his long jacket in spite of the warm weather, the leather backpack slung over one shoulder. He carried a large gift bag and an assortment of collared helium balloons, on which Jim’s enhanced sight allowed him to read various messages on the theme of _Happy 32nd Birthday_. Okay, obviously today was someone’s birthday and that someone was just as obviously important enough to Blair for him to stand up to Simon on the issue of taking the day off.

Jim scowled as he eased the car into traffic some distance behind the Volvo. Someone that important to his Guide should be presented for Sentinel approval, not visited clandestinely like this. A part of his brain was aware that ‘clandestine’ wasn’t an entirely rational accusation, but the Sentinel didn’t care. Even if Blair didn’t acknowledge it yet, he was still Jim’s Guide and Guides shouldn’t have secrets from their Sentinels.

He followed Blair across the city, and out into a once rural area that was slowly being claimed by urban sprawl. Finally, the Volvo turned in at a wrought iron gate where a discreet sign proclaimed ‘Allison Gray Hospice,’ and a stately old house sat on a slight hill overlooking several acres of lawn and flower gardens.

_Hospice? Isn’t that another name for a hospital where no one is expected to get well enough to leave?_

Parking on the edge of the road, Jim extended his sight up the sweeping gravel drive to the parking lot. A white-haired man stood beside his dark blue car, a massive bunch of red roses lying on the hood, and he raised a hand in greeting as the Volvo slid into a nearby parking space.

Jim piggybacked his hearing on to his sight and kept his fingers crossed he wouldn’t zone as he eavesdropped. Being found here would be hard to explain to an undoubtedly incandescent Guide.

Blair climbed out of his Volvo, carrying the gift bag and the balloons. The man picked up the roses and they met at the path leading through the lawn to the house.

###### “Hey, Doc.”

###### “Hello, Jake. You’re looking good.”

 _Hey, how come **he**_ _doesn’t get his head bitten off for calling you Jake?_

###### A shrug. “I’m okay. I’m still not sure about the research trip, though.”

_Research trip? What research trip?_

###### “It’s only for three months. The staff here will take the same excellent care of Alex as they always have, and I’ll come out every week until you’re back.”

###### “I know, but...”

###### “No buts. Five years of guilt over something that wasn’t your fault is enough.”

_Uh-oh, that doesn’t sound good._

###### A bitter laugh. “I didn’t keep her safe and I couldn’t help her afterwards. So tell me, Doc, which part of that isn’t my fault?”

###### “Karen was very good at hiding her true nature, Jake. She fooled the entire Search Committee and everyone at the Institute, myself included, over an extended period.”

###### “And my sister paid the price for it.”

_Sister? Blair has a sister?_

###### “And you’re still paying every day.” Doc stepped in front of Blair, blocking the path and forcing him to halt. “You think this is the kind of life Alex wanted for you? She had such hopes and dreams for you, and here you are, wasting your life hiding behind that black uniform, so afraid to bond that you interdicted. If she could see what you’ve become, she’d kick your butt into the middle of next week.”

###### “How dare you!” A world of hurt and anger blazed in those three words.

###### “I dare because it’s true, and because I care enough to tell you what you need to hear even when you don’t want to hear it.” Doc started walking towards the house again. “Now I’m going to visit your sister. You can come with me or wait until I’ve gone, it’s up to you.”

At the end of the driveway, Jim clenched his fingers on the steering wheel until the knuckles turned white to keep himself in the car. He could hear Blair’s heart pounding in double time, hear his quick, almost panting breath, and every Sentinel instinct urged him to scoop up his Guide. To soothe and pet him until he was calm again, to assure him that he was cherished and anyone who caused him grief would be pounded into a smear on the scenery. Starting with this Doc, and regardless of his white hair.

By the time Jim had his homicidal urges under control enough to pay attention again, Blair was moving up the driveway. His heartbeat and breathing were slowly settling down, but his shoulders slumped and his feet dragged.  
 _  
Damn you, Doc, whoever you are._

He’d get the license plate as the man left and find out all there was to know about him. In the meantime, he had a phone call to make.

Although Jim was reasonably computer literate, hacking was a skill definitely outside his area of expertise. Fortunately, his life included a thin, chain-smoking woman known only as Spike, who wore black boots and severely tailored clothes in drab colours. In return for a large box of outrageously expensive imported chocolates, this virtuoso of cyber-space would hack into anything, anywhere, no questions asked.

No questions was good, because he didn’t want to try explaining this request.  He dug out his phone, and speed dialled the requisite number.

 _“Okay, should be easy enough,”_ Spike said confidently when he told her what he wanted. _“Talk to you in ten minutes.”_

In fact, it was seven when she rang him back. _“The Allison Gray Hospice has no record of any patient named Sandburg. What they do have though, is an Alexandria Elizabeth Barnes, whose next of kin is listed as her brother, Blair Jacob Sandburg, and he’s a regular visitor. It’s also her thirty-second birthday today.”_

“That’ll be the one. What’s wrong with her?”

_“She’s been comatose for almost five years. Some kind of Sentinel overload, but the records doesn’t say how it happened. And here’s the kicker—someone off-site has her file flagged.”_

Jim’s pulse quickened. “Flagged? How?”

_“So they’ll know when her records are accessed and by whom. I made sure they couldn’t backtrack me, but whoever put that flag there is good, really good. I almost didn’t see it in time.”_

“Damn.” He didn’t like the sound of that one bit. “Can you trace the flag?”  
 _  
“Maybe, but I don’t think there’s enough chocolate in the city to cover that.”_

“You can name your price on this one. In the meantime, it’s worth another box of chocolates if you hack the Sentinel Institute records and find out exactly what put Barnes in the coma.”

 _“Make it two more boxes and I’m on it. It’s highly likely the Institute file will be flagged as well. Even without that, it’s not like hacking a hospice with the bare minimum of security that a child can override—those guys have state of the art computer security that takes some attention to beat, even from me._ ”

“You’ve got it. Get back to me as soon as you’ve got the information.” Jim snapped his cell phone shut and reviewed his morning’s work. _I’ve spied on my Guide, deliberately eavesdropped on a private conversation and hired someone to hack into both business and government records. Not feeling guilty, nuh-uh, not one little bit. I’ll have to make sure Simon never finds out about the hacking bit, though, or I’ll be toast._

_Mind you, if Sandburg ever finds out I followed him, there won’t be enough of me left for Simon to toast. Not worth worrying about Simon, then._

He settled down to wait for either Spike to call him back, or the doc to emerge from the hospice. While he waited, he dug out his credit card and made a call to the shop where Spike’s chocolates could be found, wincing at the total the sales clerk announced. Still, it was a small price to pay for the information he needed.

The flagged file worried him. Who could be keeping such a watch on Blair’s sister and why? And if they were watching the sister, were they also keeping track of his Guide? His hackles rose at the thought. He’d just have to make sure whoever the flagger was found out Blair—and by extension, Alexandria Barnes—was protected, even if it came to termination with extreme prejudice. His time in covert ops meant he’d have no trouble hiding the body or bodies, if it came to that, not to mention being a cop gave him an added edge in knowing how to avoid leaving incriminating evidence behind.

Jim’s second bout of homicidal thoughts for that morning were interrupted by catching sight of a figure stepping off the front verandah of the hospice. He extended his sight and identified the man Blair had called Doc, and pulled his notebook and pen from his pocket while he watched the man walk down the path to his car. The doc hadn’t stayed long, so presumably there’d been no kiss-and-make-up happening while his attention had been elsewhere, and he automatically extended his hearing to check on his Guide.

###### “...birthday song, then check out the loot I scored for you this year.”

Blair’s deep love for his sister was clear in every syllable.

###### “Okay? Here we go then, one, two three...

 

###### “Happy, happy birthday, Alex dear  

###### Happy days will come to you all year 

###### And if I had one wish, then it would be,

######     A happy, happy birthday to you from me...”

His voice wobbled on the last line. Jim found himself choking up in sympathy as he tried to imagine five years of loving someone who didn’t even know you were there.

###### The sound of a soft kiss, then a pause, followed by the rustle of paper and determined cheerfulness. “Okay, first out of the bag we have—tah-dah! ‘Going Postal,’ by Terry Pratchett. Yeah, I know it’s been out a while, but I was saving it for your birthday. I’ll read you a chapter later, okay?” Rustle, rustle. “And here’s some of the rose-scented hand cream you like so much. I bet you’d like some of that on right now, huh? We’ll get to the rest of the loot after that...”

With a start, Jim realized Doc’s car was out of the parking lot and heading down the driveway. He used his extended vision and scribbled down the license plate before scrunching down in his seat so his car would look empty when the doc drove past. From his prone position, he unhooked the mike from the police-issue radio and relayed the tag number to the dispatch operator.

The car, now safely past, was registered to one Dr. Elias Stoddard, chair of Anthropology at Rainier University and prominent member of the Rainier Sentinel and Guide Institute’s governing council.

Jim unscrunched himself as he debated his next move. Blair would probably stay at the hospice until he had to report to Major Crimes for their stakeout tonight. _Right. Let’s follow Dr. Elias Stoddard, then, and find out why he’s got ‘Jake privileges’._

Frankly, the Sentinel was fed up. First Connor got smiles and attention when he didn’t. Now this other man was allowed to call his Guide ‘Jake’ when he wasn’t. Lots of people preferred one of their given names above the other, no big deal there. Except Blair’s reaction when he used the wrong name made it clear something else was going on. Now he’d been presented with a perfect opportunity to find out what, and he intended to take it.

******

  
Dr. Stoddard drove with decorum and respect for all the road rules. Jim followed him back into the city, and through the grounds of Rainier University. He had climbed out his car, and was about to trail the doctor up the steps of a building the sign declared was Hargrove Hall when his phone rang.

 _“Got it,”_ Spike reported triumphantly. _“Alexandria Barnes was fried by her Guide. No wonder the Institute sealed her records.”_

Jim felt a cold trickle slide down his spine. “What happened?” _What did she do that was so horrible her own Guide tried to kill her?_

_“Apparently, she was a security expert—you know, the kind people pay to break into their company or homes as a check on just how good their security systems really are? Anyway, long story short, she caught her Guide selling information on their clients to assorted criminals types. She threatened to call the cops and the Guide zoned her so deep, her pathways were fried. Afterwards, her barriers couldn’t be stabilized and there was too much damage for her to be able to bond again, so she eventually went comatose.”_

“Wait a minute. Are you saying she survived a zone that deep?” Jim found that hard to believe. A zone causing that kind of damage should have been followed by death shortly after the onset.

_“Apparently so, which is where it gets a little hinky. This brother of hers is some kind of Level Twelve genius, and he managed to bring her out of the zone, then keep her barriers stabilized for some time. Nobody seems to know why she didn’t die from the zone, or when her barriers finally failed—or at least, if they do, they’re not prepared to put it in an official report. There was some research into it for a while after she went comatose, then nothing.”_

“What happened to the Guide?”

 _“I thought you’d want to know that.”_ Satisfaction at her foresight filled Spike’s voice. _“So I accessed her file as well. Her name is Karen Johnson and she disappeared off the face of the earth about two seconds after frying her Sentinel. Smart move, too—there’s a burn out order on her, not to mention a number of law enforcement types who want a serious word. And guess what? The Institute file on the Barnes woman has the same flag as her hospice file. No surprise there, but the Johnson file is flagged, as well.”_

 “Are you sure?” It was a reflexive question.

_“Oh, ye of little faith.”_

“Sorry, of course you’re sure. The chocolates will be delivered to you this afternoon.”  
 _  
“No problem, big guy. I’m assuming you want the usual copies of the files?_ ”

“I do indeed.”

_“Consider it done. I’ll get back to you as soon as I have something on the flags. You’ll have to be patient, though, ’cause going to take a while.”_

Jim closed his phone and gave Spike’s information some serious thought. No wonder Blair had interdicted. Bad enough if this happened to his sister through an unfortunate accident with her hyper-senses, but to know her Guide had deliberately inflicted that kind of damage... well, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that’s why he’d signed up for the Guide Enforcement Program.

With a sigh, Jim shoved the phone back in his pocket. This complicated things, but at least he now he had more of an idea of what he was up against in his Guide Quest. He climbed the steps to the building the doctor had disappeared into, and a helpful student pointed him in the direction of the doctor’s office.

A short time later, he showed his badge, banded in red to mark his status as a Sentinel, to the formidable woman he found guarding the doctor’s inner sanctum. “Detective Jim Ellison, from Major Crimes. I’d like to speak with Dr. Stoddard please.”

“I’ll see if he’s available.” She sniffed, and gave him a disparaging look as she picked up the phone. She reported his request into the receiver, said “Very well, Doctor,” replaced the receiver, sniffed again, and said, “You may go in.”

Her tone suggested he wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near Dr. Stoddard’s august presence if she’d had any say in the matter. He ignored that and knocked on the indicated door, opening it and stepping inside when a male voice called, “Come in.”

“Senior Sentinel Prime.” Shrewd brown eyes assessed him from where the doctor sat behind his desk. “What can I do for you?”

“You were at the hospice with Blair Sandburg this morning.” Jim took the chair on the opposite side of the desk from the doctor. “Seemed like you know him pretty well.”

“Well enough to know he’s your Field Guide right now. What’s this about?”

“I know he interdicted because his Sentinel sister got fried by her Guide.”

Doctor Stoddard leaned back in his chair, clearly surprised. “Jake told you about Alex?”

It was at this point that Jim’s instincts made an executive decision without consulting his brain, which listened in shock as his mouth said, “Actually, I bribed someone to hack into the hospice and Institute records after I followed him to the hospice this morning. Then I ran your license plates through police dispatch to find out who you were, and followed you back here to see what else I could find out.”

The other man stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then gave a snort of laughter. “I must say, I wasn’t expecting that admission.”

“Me, either.” _Oh, well, might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb._ “I followed Blair because I knew he was keeping something important from me, and I wanted to find out what it was. A Guide and Sentinel shouldn’t have secrets from each other.” He held up a hand, forestalling what the other man was opening his mouth to say. “I know, I know, he’s interdicted, but that doesn’t change the fact that Blair is my one true Guide. He just needs time to realise that.”

Dr. Stoddard looked at him for a long, assessing moment, then reached towards the bookcase behind him. “Let me show you something.” He handed Jim a photo, which had been blocked from view by his body. “This was taken three weeks before Alex was injured.”

The photo took the Sentinel’s breath away. The grim, black clad man he knew grinned at him, his eyes sparkling and face alight with the joy of living. He held a large fish in one hand and some kind of wooden spear in the other, presumably what he’d used to catch the fish. His shirt was a riot of colour, and the wind lifted the shoulder-length curls back from his face to reveal two small silver earrings decorating his left ear.

“For months after Alex went into the coma, Jake refused to believe she wasn’t coming back. When he finally had to accept she wasn’t, he blamed himself for being unable to save her. The only way he could survive that was to become someone else—someone who could stop this from ever happening to another Sentinel or Guide.”

“So he turned into Commander Blair Sandburg.”

“I’m the only one he couldn’t make stop calling him Jake. I keep hoping one day hearing that name will make him remember who that young man was, and he’ll start to live again.” Dr. Stoddard sighed. “I wish you could have known him before Alex was hurt. He was so full of life it made me tired just looking at him. Even when he sat still, which was very rarely, he vibrated so much energy it felt like he was moving. The classes he ran as a teaching fellow always had waiting lists, and his students adored him. He was always protesting some social or environmental cause, trying to make the world a better place for future generations. Anyone needed help, he was there, especially if children or the homeless were involved.” The doctor chuckled sadly. “That boy could talk with his head shoved in a bucket of wet cement. No matter what the topic of conversation, he could turn it into an anthropological discussion.”

 _The most painful state of being is remembering the future we can never have._ Jim wasn’t sure where he’d heard that said, but he suddenly felt the truth of it. His Guide should have been the vital, laughing man in the picture, not the hard, silent one he’d become. “I’m lucky to get two consecutive sentences out of Blair. And when we’re on stakeout, he just sits there for hours on end, barely blinking. If he was a Sentinel, I’d think he’d zoned.”

“I know. It breaks my heart.”

“He has this weird thing happening with a female detective, though. She brings him treats and pats him on the head. He even lets her call him ‘Sandy’.”

“Ah, that would be Megan.”

“You know her?” Now that was a surprise.

“I met her the other night when she was helping Jake with some lab tests. A most charming young lady.”

Jim almost choked. ‘Connor’ and ‘charming’ were two words that didn’t belong in the same universe, let alone the same sentence. “What kind of tests?”

The doctor shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Jake about that.”

“Uh-huh.” _Why do I get the feeling you know a lot more about this than you’re telling me?_ “Do you know why Blair is so angry with me? He was great at the hospital, but he’s been like a bear with his paw caught in a trap ever since he showed up at the station.”

“Sorry, no idea. I asked him about his field assignment when I saw him the other night, and he gave no indication anything was wrong.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and added, “Jake is complicated. If you’re serious about him being your Guide, it’s going to take a lot of patience and persistence to get him to cancel his interdiction.”

“Okay, Doc.” Jim rose to his feet and held out his right hand. “Thanks for your time.”

Dr. Stoddard shook hands and said, “Maybe you should just ask him what’s wrong. After all, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“He can kill me dead, and hide my body where it’ll never be found.” Jim was only half joking; the fury he’d seen in Blair’s eyes that first morning in the elevator had left him with the uneasy suspicion his Guide was capable of almost anything when in that kind of temper. _And Connor would be right next to him with a shovel clutched in her hot little hands, ready to help dig my grave._

“Great rewards often require great risks,” the doctor answered.

Jim was out in the hallway before he realized Dr. Stoddard hadn’t denied the kill-him-dead scenario. Somehow, that was **not** very reassuring.

***                       *                       ***

Jim spent the rest of the day thinking about all he’d learned about the life of Commander Blair Sandburg, and trying to decide what his next move should be. Asking Blair why he was so damn angry at him sounded easy in the abstract, but the paranoid kill-me-dead scenario aside, the reality still wasn’t quite that simple.  Should he work his way up to the question, and if so, how?  Or would it be better to just ask straight out without any preamble?

He still hadn’t decided what approach to use when he arrived at the ninth-floor luxury apartment being used for the stakeout.  Blair was already there, eating a sample of his treat du jour as he chatted with Connor and Joel, and on the table lay two bags with the Wonderburger logo stamped on them.  It had surprised Jim to realize just how much his Guide ate, and it was a source of concern that his entire diet seemed to consist of Connor’s treats and various incarnations of junk food.  Of course, it was entirely possible that in his time spent away from Jim he was a first class gourmet, but Jim wasn’t about to hold his breath on that one.  It also worried him that his Guide was at least ten pounds underweight in spite of what had to be a massive daily caloric intake.

He went over the activity logs with Joel while his Guide and Connor did their wrist holding, non-talking thing, then the other two detectives left.  Connor gave him a decidedly sniffy look on her way out the door, which annoyed him enough to need a deep, calming breath to centre himself again.

And in that breath, Jim caught the faint tang of a vaguely familiar scent that was out of place in this room.  He breathed in again as he slowly turned in a circle, trying to locate where the scent was strongest.

“Sentinel, what is it?”  Blair was in front of him now, a grounding hand on his arm.

“A scent that doesn’t belong.”

“Okay, catalogue the scents you know belong, and file them away in the background.  You know what they are and they don’t matter, just let them go and the other scent will come to the foreground...”

Jim closed his eyes and let the soothing voice wash over him, engendering his senses with a clarity he could never find on his own.  The scent was stronger now, and with the others filtered out, he could tell it was directly in front of him.  Without conscious thought, he leaned into the scent and inhaled again, then his eyes snapped open again as he made the identification.

“It’s you.”  Jim grinned at his Guide, ridiculously pleased with himself for identifying the scent.  “You smell like the ocean.”

“Get **off** me!” Blair snarled, backing the words up with a hard shove.  “Scent me again, Ellison, and I’ll have you censured for trying to break my interdiction.”

“I wasn’t scenting you, just trying to identify the smell on your clothes.”

“You arrogant bastard!”  His force of his anger slammed into Jim like a physical blow.  “Just ’cause you could blackmail me into being your Field Guide, it doesn’t mean I’ll take whatever other crap you feel like dishing out.”

“Okay, that does it!”  Now Jim was shouting back, a week of pent-up frustration spilling out as the two men glared at each other.  “What the hell are you talking about?”

Blair’s eyes blazed with contempt and a hard forefinger poked him in the chest.  “What, you thought I’d just let you do whatever you want so I could keep my grant?”

Jim slapped the finger away.  “What grant?”

“Cut the crap, Sentinel.  I know what you did.”

“That makes one of us, then.”

“And I’m so damn lucky to be working with such a funny man.”

“If you don’t want to be my Field Guide, all you have to do is say so,” Jim snarled back, stung by the sneering tone.

“Yeah, right, the sixth time being the lucky charm.”

“What’s that suppos—”  He broke off abruptly as understanding dawned, draining his anger and leaving him feeling slightly nauseated.  “You did say no.”

“Like you don’t already know that.”

“Pretend for a minute that I don’t, and tell me what happened.”

“All right, you want to play games, I can do that.”  The Guide’s tone was savage, his anger slashing streaks of fire across Jim’s mind.  “I can pretend you don’t know I told your precious captain three times at the hospital that I didn’t want to be your Field Guide.  I can pretend you don’t know that the next thing that happened was that Chancellor Edwards got in my face about the importance of cooperating with a request from the Senior Sentinel Prime.  I can pretend you don’t know that after I told her twice that I didn’t want to accept the assignment, she said, guess what?  No cooperation, no study grant for my dissertation research, therefore no dissertation, and all those years of schooling go down the toilet.  Not much pressure to change my mind, right?”

“Blair, I swear I didn’t know.”  The nausea was fully fledged now.  “At the hospital, Simon asked me if I wanted you for my Field Guide and I said yes, then the next thing I know you’re in his office reporting for duty.  I didn’t know you had to be blackmailed into it.”

“Yeah, and the Titanic only got a little bit wet.”

Jim held out his hand, palm out and fingers spread wide.  “Read me.  You’ll know I’m telling the truth.”

His face expressionless, Blair looked at the outstretched hand without moving, but at least the empathetic fire in Jim’s head stopped.  Then, just when he was beginning to think his Guide would reject the offer, he slowly reached out and laid his palm against the Sentinel’s, threading his fingers carefully through the larger ones.

His skin tingling where they touched, Jim curled his fingers downwards, and was suddenly aware how much their hands looked like a portrait he’d once seen called Praying Hands.  Only this wasn’t a single pair of hands and they weren’t praying—at least, maybe he was.  Praying that his Guide would understand he hadn’t known about the blackmail, that somehow they could get past this and his one true Guide would know they were meant to be together.

He didn’t know how long they remained like that, gradual heat rising where their hands touched.  The heat spread slow tingles of pleasure across his palm, and he suddenly realized Blair’s scent had changed.  The acrid scent of anger was gone, and in its place was a subtle trace of musk that Jim carefully inhaled.  He didn’t want to set Blair off again by scenting him, but that sweet smell was irresistible to the Sentinel.

Jim’s cell phone chose that very inconvenient moment to ring.  He gave serious thought to ignoring it, but both he and the Sentinel knew protecting the tribe had to come first.  Cursing under his breath, he dragged the offending piece of technology out of his pocket with his free hand and demanded “What?”

“This is Hansen,” reported the disembodied voice of one of the Vice cops watching the doors to the building where their target lived.  “Biggett just entered the building.  You should have him in your lens any minute now.”

“Okay, thanks.”  Jim closed his phone, and reluctantly opened his fingers to release his Guide’s hand.  “Carson’s got company.  We’ll have to finish this conversation later.”

 _I am a professional, I can do this.  I am a professional, I can do this._ Blair chanted the mantra silently to himself as he watched Jim re-check the sound levels of the recording equipment before seating himself in front of the telephoto lens camera.  _I am a professional, I can do this._

_I am a professional with definite suicidal tendencies, that’s what I am.  I knew he wasn’t lying without touching him, but I had to go put my head in the lion’s mouth.  Again.  Another minute, and I might as well have started painting ‘Come and get me’ on my forehead._

_I am a professional, I can do this._

_I wonder if my health insurance would spring for a nice padded room somewhere far, far away from Sentinels in general and this Sentinel in particular._

_ARGH!_

 

And then with a burst of activity, the stakeout was over. Evidence of the drugs-for-guns deal was captured on both film and audio, and Blair made himself useful in the packing up process. There hadn’t been time to finish the discussion the call to duty had interrupted, and he wasn’t sure if he was glad or sorry about that.

As the last of the equipment was carried from the room, the Sentinel pulled him aside and said, “In the morning I’ll talk to Chancellor Edwards, and find out what happened with the blackmail thing. I’ll also make sure she knows there will be major repercussions if you don’t get that research grant.”

“Thank you.” There didn’t seem to be much else he could say to that.

“You need to sign severance forms to officially end your field assignment. Come in to the P.D. around two o’clock tomorrow, and I’ll have them ready.”

“You don’t want me anymore?” Sheesh, could I be any more pathetic? I should be running away as fast as I can.

“Oh, I want, all right. But not until you want, too.”

Before he could think how to answer that, Simon bellowed from the hallway, “Are you two waiting for an engraved invitation or what?”

 

When he finally reached the safety of his studio apartment, Blair spent the rest of the night on the reclining deck chair that occupied most of his minuscule balcony, huddled under blankets despite the warm night. He dozed in short snatches as per usual, but even that small rest was disturbed by dreams...  
  
  _**...of a blue-tinted jungle clearing with a stone building, covered with creepers and jungle vines, looming up on one side. A black panther romped through the clearing with a wolf, and at the base of the flight of steps leading up to the building, lay a spotted jaguar. The jaguar was thin and weak, and from time to time, the panther and wolf returned to its side, checking it for injury and encouraging it unsuccessfully to come and play with them...**_  
  
...He knew from previous encounters, both awake and in dreams, that the wolf was his spirit guide and that the spotted jaguar belonged to Alex. He’d never seen the panther before, but the wolf was obviously happy in its company—

_Oh, crap! I’m seeing Ellison’s spirit guide in my dreams now. How pathetic is that?_

In between the blue jungle dreams, he watched the moon move slowly across the sky, and wondered what heights—or, rather, depths—his next conversation with Chancellor Edwards would reach. One thing was for sure; she would be a very unhappy camper when the Sentinel got through with her, but at least his grant would be safe. Ellison had promised him that and he had no doubt the man would keep his word.

Blair spent the time his mind wasn’t occupied with the Chancellor pondering what to do about the Sentinel. He knew the smartest move he could make was to get the hell out of Dodge while he had the chance, and not look back as he was leaving.

Being stupid enough to touch Ellison at the stakeout forced him to finally admit to himself that the Sentinel wanting him wasn’t the problem. Before his interdiction, several other Sentinels had been interested in him as a Guide, but he’d had no second thoughts about any of them. There had never been as much as a first thought about any of the Sentinels he’d met since the interdiction.

Until now, when he was even seeing this Sentinel’s spirit guide in his dreams.

And that, in a nutshell, was the real problem. For the first time, his body had betrayed him, and he wanted this Sentinel back. Even when he’d thought the man was blackmailing him, it had taken every ounce of his willpower not to let that show. Just how pitiful did that make him?

Nothing had changed his reasons for interdicting. Not to mention Ellison was a decorated police officer and the eldest son of a wealthy man, as well as the Senior Sentinel Prime of the Northwest Territories. That meant the press would want every detail of his Guide’s life, and sooner or later, some enterprising reporter would discover the truth about his past.

Getting out now was definitely the sane option.

Right. Go in, sign the papers, get out.

I can do that.

I can.

  
* * *

  
The interview with Chancellor Edwards was every bit as unpleasant as Blair had anticipated. She had been at her contemptuous best, and her words had stung. — _(...“A selfish embarrassment to the Enforcement Programme and the Institute... A penniless nobody who doesn’t have the decency to be grateful the Senior Sentinel Prime would even consider someone like you as a Field Guide... It’s fortunate you interdicted, because no Sentinel would ever want you...”)_ — Whoever it was who had said ‘words can never hurt me’ was either a fool or a liar.

Still, he had managed to keep that hurt hidden from her and the most important thing—in fact the only thing that mattered—was that his grant was secured. Now he stood in a small conference room on the seventh floor of the Cascade PD and looked at the papers spread out on the table, a pen gripped in his hand. In true bureaucratic style, he had to sign in triplicate, the places already marked where his signature was required. He sidetracked briefly into wondering whether that piece of efficiency was courtesy of Vera or Ellison, but that was only delaying the inevitable.

All he had to do was write his name in the places indicated, and it was over. Nothing had changed since his early morning decision; getting out of Dodge as fast as he could was still the sane option.

His skin prickled, and he looked up to find Ellison watching him. “What?”

“I was just wondering why you were so against being my Field Guide in the first place.”

 _Oh, crap! I should have seen that one coming. Okay, steady heartbeat, that’s it, keep it steady. I can obfuscate my way out of this._ “At the hospital, Dr. Harvey told me I’d been first on the list when they ran the data base for your Guide Search. An interdicted Guide working with a compatible Sentinel in Search Mode can get messy really fast.”

“I think I have enough self-control not to jump your bones,” Ellison retorted, sounding miffed. “And anyway, Dr. Harvey is the one who got Chancellor Edwards to blackmail you in the first place.”

“What? But she had to know that would...”

_Well, duh, Sandburg, of course she did. She asked you to reconsider the interdiction, remember?  And as a senior doctor, she could cite me bringing Ellison out of that zone out as the reason for insisting on my assignment. An interdicted Guide can still do field work, so her butt is nicely covered there. As far as anything else goes, she has complete deniability._

_I bet she didn’t tell Edwards about her ultimate plan, though; the woman would have a coronary at the idea of me being Senior Guide Prime._

“Would what?” Ellison prompted.

“Never mind.” _But you can be sure I’ll be having a serious word with Madam Doctor in the very near future._ “Anyone else I should know about?”

“Simon—but maybe you can give him a break here. He’s my friend as well as my commanding officer, and he just wanted what’s best for me.”

 _No surprise there._ “Yeah, everyone wanted what’s best for the Sentinel. Too bad the Guide got screwed over in the process.” He looked at the papers again. _Just sign them and get out, you fool!_

“I’m sorry about the blackmail, I really am, but I’m not going to apologize for wanting you.” Ellison caught Blair’s wrist in his hand, removed the pen from his grip and tossed it on the desk before interlacing their fingers the way they had been the previous night. “You look me in the eye and tell me you don’t feel this. That this isn’t the only thing that matters.”

Blair looked down at their joined hands, and something rippled through his mind, pulsing in time to the tingles sparking where their palms touched. He hung on to enough sanity to say, “Just think about this for a minute, okay? You’re the Senior Sentinel Prime of the Northwest Territories, not to mention William Ellison’s son. You can have any Guide you want.”

“I want you.”

Okay, time to bite the bullet. He took a deep breath and looked at the Sentinel as he made himself say the words that would end this once and for all. “My mother is in a Canadian jail, serving life without the possibility of parole on three counts of murder and numerous counts of industrial espionage.”

“Holy cow.” Ellison sounded as stunned as he looked. “Did she do it?”

“Oh, yeah, in spades,” Blair answered, and waited for his hand to be released; waited for the Sentinel to turn away from the tainted Guide.

Instead, the hold on his hand never faltered. “That doesn’t change anything.”

“James.” Unconsciously, he used the man’s given name for the first time. “You deserve a Guide who won’t be an embarrassment—”

“I deserve my one true Guide, and that’s you.” Jim tightened his grip on Blair’s hand, and repeated, “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t feel this.”

He tried to do the sane thing, even got as far as opening his mouth, but the words died unborn.

Jim laid his free hand against his cheek, brushing the thumb over his lower lip and sparking tingles to match the ones where their palms touched. “Stay with me. Be my Field Guide and give us a chance to work this out.”

Blair closed his eyes, fighting the growing longing that was his worst enemy. He let his head drop until his forehead rested against the Sentinel’s shoulder as the internal battle waged through him.

_I am so tired of being alone._

_Bonding gives another the power to destroy you._

He felt the hand against his face move to the back of his neck; light, soothing strokes that comforted even as the touch sparked against his skin.

“I know I’m asking a lot here,” the cause of his struggle said gently. “But you’re my one true Guide and my soul mate, the only one I will ever belong to. If you walk away from this, you’re not only giving up on your own destiny, you’re taking mine with you as well.”

If he’d pushed, tried to insist on what he wanted, Blair could have fought the temptation. Instead, that quiet plea over-ran his shaking defences and the last wall crumbled.

In a voice almost too soft for even Sentinel hearing, he said, “I’ll caveat.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“I add a sworn notation to the interdiction that I’m considering you as my Sentinel, and that it’s a decision made of my own free will. The medical non-bonding order stays in place and I can change my mind at any time, but the notation protects you from any accusations of trying to break my interdiction.” He lifted his head to look at the Sentinel. “I’ll caveat and I’ll stay on as your Field Guide, but I can’t promise anything beyond that.”

“I know. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Okay.”

“So I’ll toss these papers while you go sign the caveat, then you can come to my place for dinner tonight. I’ll cook and we’ll talk, figure out where we go from here.”

 _The Sentinel feeds the Guide in his territory. Can we say prime imperative here?_ “All right.” Reluctantly, Blair broke the contact between them and stepped away. “I’ll see you at 7:30.”

  
 _  
Here I go again, sticking my head in the lion’s mouth_. Blair rode the elevator up to the third floor and the loft apartment of his prospective Sentinel. His copy of the caveat burned in his pocket, and he once more questioned the wisdom of the path he’d taken with signing that document. This afternoon, it had all seemed so simple; but away from the intoxicating presence of his Sentinel, all the old doubts and fears had surfaced once more.

_And that’s another thing. I’m just considering this as an option; absolutely no commitment to anything beyond that. So how come every time I think about him now, I’m using the possessive pronoun?_

_Because I need my head read, that’s why. I should just give myself up to the little men in white coats and be done with it._

The door to the loft opened before Blair could knock, which didn’t surprise him. However, the brightly flowered apron did, and distracted him from his fears.

“Cute apron,” he commented as he stepped inside, and the door was closed behind him.

Jim glanced down at it with a sheepish grin. “It was a gag gift from my ex-wife.”

“You were married?”

“Yeah, for about two years, to Carolyn Plummer.” Jim returned to the stove and stirred the largest pot carefully as Blair perched on a stool at the breakfast bar. “She’s a lieutenant in Forensics. I don’t think you’ve met her yet.”

“No, the name isn’t familiar.”

“You’ll like her when you do—she’s a special woman. It just turned out that we work a lot better as friends than we did as spouses. We still have dinner a couple of times a month, though, and I still get invited to all her family events.” Jim grinned at him. “There’s enough of them to populate a small country, and the kids all call me Uncle Jim.”

“They sound like nice people,” Blair’s mouth said, while his imagination presented him with an image of the small Plummers addressing him as Uncle Blair because he was Jim’s Guide. _Would you puh-lease get a grip!_

“They are.” Jim opened the oven door to bring out the garlic bread. “I hope you’re hungry. I made plenty.”

 _The Sentinel feeds the Guide._ With a mental shrug, Blair resigned himself to being seriously full before he was allowed to get up from the table.

  
Dinner conversation covered a range of topics such as a post mortem of the Carson case and what the Jags coach thought he was doing with some of the plays they’d used in their latest game. Henri’s betting pools, which were varied and numerous, also got a mention, and Blair discovered the existence of the ‘How long will this Guide last?’ pool. At first he was inclined to take that as a personal affront, but after Jim had regaled him with a few tales of his previous experiences, he could see why the pool was so popular.

“Blair, I have a confession to make,” Jim said when the dishes soaking in the sink, and the two men were seated on the couch with a glass of wine each. He’d given serious thought to keeping his mouth shut, but had finally realized, sooner or later, that would come back to bite him on the butt. Better to get it out in the open now, while he had the positive karma of voluntarily admitting his misdeeds on his side.

Blair turned so he faced the Sentinel, tucking one leg under him. “Do I need to help you hide a body?”

“No. Well, you might want to hide mine when I tell you.”

“James, you’re scaring me here. What did you do that’s so bad?”

Jim took a gulp of wine for courage, then blurted, “I followed you yesterday. To the hospice.”

“What?” He heard Blair’s heartbeat spike, but the single word was quiet and flat, his face suddenly expressionless.

“You were so insistent about taking the day off and I wanted to know why, so I followed you. To the hospice. And then I followed Dr. Stoddard back to the university and we talked.”

“About me.” Still the same flat, quiet voice, far more worrying than shouting.

“Yeah.” Oh, well, in for a penny, in for a pound. “And before I talked to the doc, I had a friend hack your sister’s files at the hospice and Institute to find out what happened. She found an off-site flag on each file, and whoever it is, they’re good at their job.”

“Wait a minute. That hack yesterday morning was you?”

“Well, not me, exactly, but— Hang on, you already know about this?”

“A friend of mine named Jack Kelso put the flags in place. He’s ex-C.I.A., so, yeah, he’s good at his job. Right now, he’s probably a lot closer to finding your friend than she is to tracking him.”

“Why is an ex-spook flagging your sister’s files?”

“Because certain people at the Institute consider her only value is as a lab rat, to be experimented on until their so-called doctors can figure out why the zone didn’t kill her. I found out about their tests by accident, and when I made a fuss, the bastards got a court order saying I couldn’t even visit her anymore. But Jack knows people who know things, so he got enough dirt on them to keep them away from us forever. Then he got Alex into the hospice because another ex-agent manages the place, and Nellie will personally shoot anyone who even blinks in Alex’s direction without my approval.”

“I can put the word out that she’s also under the protection of the Cascade Clan,” Jim offered as he placed his empty wine glass on the coffee table.

“Thanks.” The prospect of a Sentinel vendetta would certainly be a heavy deterrent to any scientific curiosity.

“I know I was way out of line when I followed you, and I’m not going to make any excuses for that. I was just...temporarily insane, I guess. Not to mention jealous of Connor, and frustrated because I had no idea why you were so angry with me.”

“Oh.” _Jealous of Megs?_ Blair finished his wine and placed the glass next to Jim’s as he tried to decide how he felt about that as well as the rest of Jim’s revelations. Part of him was furious about his privacy being invaded so blatantly, but another part of him realized he’d also treated Jim very unfairly when he’d thought he was a blackmailer. And to give the man credit, he’d confessed his sins instead of waiting to see if he got found out. Maybe that all balanced out in the end.

He finally decided to let it go, and said, “Given that I’ve been treating you like a blackmailer when you weren’t, you can have a get out of jail free card on this one—but you get one card and one only. If you ever do anything even remotely like this again, your butt will be permanently in a sling and there will be no forgiveness in this world or the next.”

“I won’t, not ever.” Blair nodded his acceptance of that assurance and Jim asked, “How come you and Alex have different last names?”

“I was seven when Naomi—my mother—hooked up with a Canadian named Patrick Barnes. Alex was twelve then, and her senses weren’t stable enough to be of any use. It didn’t take the parents long to realize just being around me helped her senses settle, and Naomi had never had any qualms about using my talent on a job, so, bingo. A Sentinel and Guide on the team makes industrial espionage so much easier.”

“And where was your own father while all this was going on?”

“No idea.” Blair looked down to study his fingernails. “The last time I asked who my father is, I was nine years old. My mother hit me so hard she dislocated my jaw, and Alex had to put it back because she wasn’t allowed to take me to a doctor.”

There was silence while Jim digested that. When Jim’s finger and thumb captured Blair’s chin and forced him to look up, Blair’s breath caught at the fury in the Sentinel’s eyes. Then he realized the fury was directed at the one who had hurt him, and it spread unfamiliar warmth through the center of his being. Fingertips stroked over his jaw line so gently he knew the Sentinel had dialed up his sense of touch.

“That’s why your jaw clicks sometimes, isn’t it? Like when you take a bite out of those double-sized burger things.”

Unconsciously, Blair turned his face into the caress. “Relax, man, I’m fine.”

“Exactly which prison is your mother in?”

“What, you’re gonna go deal with her for something that happened eighteen years ago?”

“No one should get away with doing that to any child. And no one ever gets away with hurting my Guide.”

“You didn’t even know I existed then.”

“That’s beside the point,” Jim informed him, even as the Sentinel noted, _He didn’t deny being my Guide, yippee!_ “I get to hurt anyone who hurts you, regardless of the time frame.”

Blair’s eyes widened at the wave of aggressive protectiveness that rolled off the Sentinel with that simple statement. “James, it was a long time ago. I survived just fine.”

“Parents are supposed to make sure their children do more than just survive. And if she dislocated your jaw just for asking a question, I’m betting it wasn’t the first or last time she hit you.”

“Alex protected me. The parents needed her senses for their espionage and she refused to help them if they hurt me, so mostly they left me alone.”

“And the times they didn’t? What happened then?”

He hesitated, not wanting to give the true answer to a Sentinel already hovering on the edge of Blessed Protector Mode.

“Blair?” Jim’s tone was gentle, but implacable. “What happened when they didn’t leave you alone?”

In a voice almost too soft for even Sentinel hearing, he finally admitted, “Alex would shove me in a corner and cover me with her body. She was strong for her age because she was a Sentinel and they couldn’t make her let go of me, so they’d beat the snot out of her instead for defying them.” The powerful memories flooded back and his voice shook, reflecting the sudden trembling in his body. “I tried to tell her they wouldn’t hurt me as much as they did her, but she’d just say the big sister always protects the little brother, and the Sentinel always protects the Guide.”

Blair didn’t resist as he was tugged around and forward, until he lay against the Sentinel’s chest, his head tucked under the other’s chin. One arm wrapped around him, holding him securely while the other hand gently stroked over his face, across his shoulders, chest and stomach, down his arms and thighs. The pattern was repeated, the Sentinel checking his Guide for any injury even though the attacks had been long ago.

His eyes drifted shut as Blair luxuriated in the unfamiliar sensation of being cherished. Instinctively, he turned his head to press his face into the curve of Jim’s neck, and shifted to wrap his arms around him for more body contact. Under his ear, he could hear the comforting thump of Jim’s heartbeat, and felt his own shift to match that rhythm.

Odd. That shouldn’t happen until I’ve been bonded for at least six months.

He pondered that for a moment, but his increasingly fuzzy brain made thinking difficult. He had a fleeting impression of faint red tendrils from the Sentinel’s mind reaching out towards him, then he tumbled into the abyss of sleep.

In the room above, a black panther lay on the bed and peered down through the railings at the scene below, a wolf at his side. The wolf was thin and nervous, pressing down into the bed to make itself as small as possible while he watched the humans below. The panther rumbled comfortingly deep in its throat, and swiped a large rough tongue over the wolf’s head. With a faint whimper, the wolf accepted the offered comfort and leaned into the panther, which curled protectively around it as they both continued to watch the Sentinel cherish his Guide.

  
  
“Blair, wake up.” A soft touch caressed his face, and he turned his head to increase the contact. “C’mon, buddy, wake up.”

“Mmrrrhh.” Warm steam wafted under his nose, and lured his body with the promise of a caffeine hit. His eyelids cracked open, and he frowned at the sunshine pouring into the loft. It had been dark just a minute ago.

“That’s it,” Jim encouraged as he straggled into a sitting position. When he was established upright, the Sentinel placed a cup of coffee in his hands and he automatically drank a mouthful. “Breakfast is almost ready. We need to get a move on so you’ll have time to go home for a change of clothes before we’re on duty.”

The caffeine managed to kick started his brain. “It’s morning?”

“Yup.” Apparently satisfied his Guide was awake enough to not spill hot coffee on himself, the Sentinel returned to the kitchen. “You were so sound asleep last night, I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”

Blair looked over the back of the couch at him. He didn’t remember anything after being hauled into the Sentinel’s lap the night before, but he must have woken long enough to undress because he was now wearing only his boxers and T-shirt. Somewhere along the line, he’d also acquired a pillow and a number of blankets.

Then it hit him.

For the first time in five years, he’d slept the entire night through, without waking up once. Just like he’d slept in the hospital the night he’d been called in to help with the zone out.

He didn’t want to think about what that that meant, so he concentrated on drinking his coffee instead.                                                                                                          

******

  
There was a lot for Jim to be content with in the way his life developed over the following weeks. He’d never particularly cared for the formal version of his name, but when Blair called him James it was almost a benediction; and the Sentinel approved of his Guide identifying him in a way no one else did.

Life went on much the same as usual, with cases to investigate and endless paperwork to file. Now that their misunderstanding had been resolved, Blair had begun to help Jim with his paperwork, and Simon was ecstatic to receive reports that were both precise and detailed, instead of ones terse to the point where the reader needed a crowbar to pry out the relevant details.

The captain had also apologized to Blair for his role in the blackmail, and the sincerity of that apology had made Blair realize this was a man who would go to the wall for any officer under his command. His resentment towards Simon vanished in that moment, and they agreed to start over. After all, they had the same goal in common, which was to keep Jim safe.

A hopeful sign for his and Jim’s developing relationship was that Blair now gave Jim a share of Connor’s treats. She hadn’t been too happy about that the first time it happened, but after whatever Blair had ‘said’ to her in their silent conversation on the subject, she merely brought in an extra amount to make sure her fattening up project continued.

Jim had asked about Connor again, and received the same reply of, “Guide business.” When he repeated what David had said about her having no empathetic signature, Blair merely gave him an amused look over the top of his glasses and said,

“James, she has an empathetic signature. An exceptionally strong one, in fact.”

“You can see it?”

“Very clearly.”

“Then why can’t the other Guides?”

“Perhaps they’re not looking in the right place.”

Jim pondered that for a moment. “How many places are there to look?”

“Usually, only the one.”

“Well, that’s about as clear as mud.”

A shrug. “Megan is what she is, and when the time is right, the others will see that, too.”

And that was apparently that.

  
Blair was finding his own place within the Major Crimes unit as well. He’d begun to earn the detectives’ respect that first week, when he’d followed Jim into a bloodied crime scene that was the stuff of nightmares. Now, after he’d fixed Rhonda’s computer when it crashed, others asked Blair for his help instead of waiting forever for less than stellar Tech Support. His empathetic skill also proved invaluable when dealing with traumatized victims or witnesses; and gradually, the other detectives began turning to him for help in grounding their emotions when the cases they worked became too much. Occasionally, Blair would share one of Connor’s treats with a denizen of Major Crimes if he felt they deserved it, and this had become a coveted honour. It also drew Connor into the camaraderie of the bullpen for the first time, and while she still wasn’t exactly a little ray of sunshine, she was more relaxed and friendly than anyone would have previously thought possible.

Since the night he’d first fallen asleep at the loft, Blair had begun referring to Jim as ‘my Sentinel’ with slowly increasing regularity. His nervousness about being permanently bonded had begun to gradually wane, with his worst reaction to being called ‘my Guide’ being rolling his eyes; and he showed no sign of discomfort with the increasing amount of tactile contact between them.

For the Guide, touch was the principle tool for grounding a Sentinel extending his senses, and one of the main weapons for calling a Sentinel back from a zone. Linked to his Sentinel by touch, a Guide could also use his empathetic talent to run a diagnostic on his Sentinel’s health; a Guide using touch to back up his empathetic link was the one thing that could prevent an enraged Sentinel in Blessed Protector Overdrive from killing whoever was the focus of his anger.

For the Sentinel, touch was the way to diagnose illness or injury in the Guide. If a Guide had been threatened or frightened, the Sentinel would use touch to ‘map’ his Guide for reassurance that the Guide was safe and well. Mapping also imprinted the Guide on the Sentinel’s senses to the point where the Guide could be located in a pitch black room filled with a hundred other people; as part of the bonding process, mapping reinforced that imprinting and became a highly pleasurable experience for both Sentinel and Guide.

Since touch played such a large part in the Sentinel-Guide relationship, Jim took Blair’s increasing willingness to touch and be touched in return as a very hopeful sign for their future together. A major turning point in their relationship had come among all the other events that formed the fabric of their life, and had started when Jim, increasingly fascinated by the texture and colours of his Guide’s hair, zoned on it one day as they ate lunch in a small park. Shadows from the tree above the bench they sat on flickered over them, and he found himself captured by the multitude of colourss in Blair’s hair as sunlight flashed through the leaves shifting in the breeze.

He blinked and drew in a deep breath, suddenly aware of Blair’s hand against his cheek and the concern in the dark blue eyes. “I zoned?”

“You did indeed. What were you looking at?”

Jim reached out to twist a curl around his finger. “The colours in your hair.”

“It’s brown, James.”

“No, it has three basic colours; brown, chestnut and mahogany. But there’s lots of variety within those colours and then there’s some red and gold highlights happening as well. I’m still working on it, but so far I’ve counted seventeen shades.”

“Seventeen?”

“And I’m not done counting yet.” He released the single curl to run his fingers through them all. “I haven’t figured out how to describe the texture yet. It’s almost like rough silk threads, but the middle of a curl feels different to the beginning and end.”

“You do realize I’ll be booking us some lab time so we can get a proper record of that.”

“Oh, yay. I can hardly wait.” Jim knew the tests were for his own benefit and he did try to be gracious about it; but being a lab rat was right at the top of his Least Favourite Things To Do List.

“I know, I know,” his Guide answered sympathetically. “But you’ve already done most of the work on your own, so the tests should be a piece of cake.”

“As in full of assorted life-shortening ingredients.”

A sudden gleam in Blair’s eyes showed he’d come up with an idea. “Tell you what. You cooperate fully with my tests, then I’ll let you take me home and play with my hair for as long as you want.”

“Really?” Now there’s an offer to make testing worthwhile.

“Guide’s honour.”

  
But that night, the budding Sentinel-Guide pair answered the call to another midnight murder scene where Jim discovered the truth about Blair’s reaction to the one they’d attended in that first week.

He parked the truck a short distance behind the crowd of onlookers and media that surged around the line drawn by crime scene tape, and crossed the street to where Blair leaned against his Volvo, waiting for him, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his Enforcement jacket.

His Guide smelled apprehensive and uncertain. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just need a moment to prepare, you know?” Blair sighed. “I can sign up for classes at the Academy to learn about police procedure and how to use a gun, but there’s nothing that helps deal with this.”

“This won’t be as bad as the Gibb murder. You did fine then.”

“I was so damn mad at you, I’d have dropped dead before I let you see how I felt that day.” Blair hunched his shoulders and looked down at his feet. “I went back to my apartment and spent the night throwing up. It’s a good job I have insomnia or I’d still be having nightmares.”

“Insomnia?” Jim repeated in disbelief, recalling the times his Guide had sacked out on the couch at the loft. “You sleep more solidly than anyone I’ve ever known.”

“I can sleep when you’re there.” Blair continued to study his shoes as if they were the most fascinating things he’d ever seen. “Otherwise, a cat nap is the best I’ve managed since Alex was hurt.”

 _My Guide hasn’t slept properly in five years_. Jim catalogued that incredible piece of information next to “I can sleep when you’re there,” and added it to his store of proof that this was indeed his one true Guide.

“Ellison!” He looked around at the impatient shout to see Simon standing just inside the crime scene tape, making get-on-with-it movements with his large hands. Jim made just-a-minute motions back and returned his attention to his Guide, who pushed himself away from the Volvo.

“Our master’s voice.”

 _Okay, back to the job at hand_. “Blair, I know it’s hard, but you’ve got to learn to separate yourself.”

“Right. Just check my humanity at the door.”

“Whatever it takes to stay present. What if we’d been first on the scene and the killer was still here? In a situation like that, your emotions are in the way and you're worse than useless, you’re potentially dangerous. You’ve got to learn to separate yourself from your emotions when you’re on the job, because your life and the lives of others are going to depend on it.”

“Sheesh, not much pressure there.” His shoes became fascinating again. “Maybe it’s a mistake for us to be together. You need a Guide who can suck it up and deal with crap like this.”

“I have the Guide I need.” Jim wrapped a hand around the back of Blair’s neck and gave a gentle squeeze as he projected empathetic reassurance to back up his words. “Would it help if we link before we go in?”

“You don’t need that kind of distraction.”

“Actually, it would be kinda comforting.” Blair glanced up at that, and Jim gave him a rueful smile. “Just because separating from your emotions is part of surviving this job, it doesn’t mean you ever get used to seeing the things one human being can do to another.”

“You know, that’s not very encouraging to hear right now.”

“How’s this for a plan? We link up before we go inside, and when we’re done you come back to the loft with me. I’ll show you a meditation technique I use to clear my head after calls like this.” And then I’ll make damn sure you have a good sleep while you’re there.

“Meditation,” Blair repeated, his tone giving a clear opinion of that suggestion.

“Hey, don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it.” Jim lowered his forehead to rest against Blair’s and closed his eyes. “Link with me now, Chief.”

  
Unnoticed in the shadows, the wolf leaned against the panther as they watched their human counterparts. The connection was still new to both men and the gold strands slipped hesitantly into Jim’s mind, as if unsure of their welcome. He concentrated on drawing the gold strands in deeper, wrapping his own psyche around them, making sure the red threads gently anchored and supported the gold without trapping them.

Blair’s scent mellowed out, loosing its sharp edges as his Sentinel quietly laid his fears to rest. The link secured, Jim opened his eyes again, and lifted his forehead from that of his Guide. He watched the dark blue eyes open and as they looked at each other, the connection between them flared, then settled into a warm glow.

“I’ll make this as quick as I can.”

“No.” His tone held the note of command a Sentinel automatically responded to when it came from his Guide. “You will do this as slowly and thoroughly as always.”

Jim let the pride he felt in his Guide’s determination flow through their link, then turned towards the house. “Okay, but we can take a break any time you need to.”

Blair nodded and slipped into place behind him, a hand on his shoulder to anchor them. They crossed the road, ducking under the police tape and walking up the front path. On the porch, Jim stopped and looked at his Guide.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” His hand tightened briefly on Jim’s shoulder and for a moment, the link between them hummed more brightly. “Let’s get this done.”

  
  
The following week, with the promised tests done and the results carefully recorded, Blair lay on his side on the couch at the loft, his head on a pillow in Jim’s lap and his eyes closed. Soft music played in the background of the dimly lit room, and the scent that was uniquely Blair was overlaid by an essence that registered in the Sentinel’s brain as relaxed contentment. Jim inhaled the pleasing combination, and with his sense of touch wide open, ghosted the fingertips of one hand over the visible side of his Guide’s face. Dark lashes lay against too pale skin, but his cheekbone was slightly less sharp against the still too thin flesh than it had been at the beginning. The soft, smooth skin of Blair’s forehead and temple gave way to the tiny spikes of stubble on his cheek, and the Sentinel luxuriated in the different tactile sensations of each area.

Jim’s other hand carded through the short curls, massaging the scalp beneath. He could tell the point where each individual hair emerged and follow it through the changing texture that marked its curl to its end. The colours weren’t as vibrant here as they were in the sunlight, but he had them fixed in his memory now, and he smiled at the murmurs of pleasure his touch elicited from his Guide. Who knew this could feel so good for both of them?

A sudden suspicion dawned. “Blair?”

“Mmmm?”

“How come my reward is something you like so much?”

Blair’s eyes snapped open and his body stiffened. The gold strands of his psyche suddenly disappeared from Jim’s mind as their mental connection broke and his scent spiked into the sharp edges of anxiety. All of which made a screaming lie out of the carefully casual, “Just lucky, I guess.”

“Uh-huh.” His hands continued their ministrations without pause, while his mind focused on projecting his complete willingness to pamper his Guide in any way required. “But for future reference, anything you want from me is yours. All you have to do is ask.”

“I’m sorry.” The words were barely audible even to Sentinel ears. “This wasn’t fair.”

“It’s not about being fair, Chief—it’s about you knowing you can ask me for anything you want. And for the record, I’m definitely not complaining about this being my reward.”

“Okay.”

Jim smiled as felt his Guide relax again, the golden threads sliding back into his mind as the dark blue eyes drifted shut once more. Slowly, the sharpness faded from Blair’s scent as the contentment returned and after some minutes Blair’s sleepy voice announced,

“Since we’re making statements for the record, I want as much of this as I can get.”

“All you have to do is say the word.” The Sentinel listened to his Guide’s breathing deepen and slow in the slide down into sleep, and his own shifted unconsciously to match it.

The smart thing to do would be to get Blair organized to spend the night comfortably on the couch and himself into his own bed, as he had done the other times his Guide had gone to sleep on him. But he couldn’t bring himself to end their physical contact yet, so instead he pulled the afghan draped over the back of the couch down to cover Blair, then reached over and snagged a cushion from the chair next to his end of the couch. Tucking the cushion under his head, he leaned against the back of the couch and drifted into slumber surrounded by the sound, scent and touch of his one true Guide.

When he woke again in the morning, it was to find that Blair had turned over in his sleep so that his face was pressed into the Sentinel’s stomach; one hand gripped a fistful of shirt while the other arm had burrowed between the small of his back and the couch to wrap tightly around his waist. One of his own hands was still buried in his Guide’s hair while the other arm curved around his shoulders, pressing him closer. His senses were sharper and more focused than they’d ever been before when he first woke, and they stayed that way for the rest of the day. If he’d ever needed any more proof that they belonged together, that was it right there.

 

 

A number of the Sentinel and Guide pairs within the Clan had already known Blair from his work with the G.E.P. before Jim introduced him as his new Field Guide. This had somewhat blunted the “Let’s see how long this one lasts” attitude from the Clan; Megan continued to cause speculation, especially since Jim had repeated Blair’s remarks about her empathetic signature, but gradually other topics displaced that from the top of the gossip tree. And as the weeks went by, Jim felt the satisfaction of knowing his Guide had gained the stamp of approval from his Clan; ultimately, they would show due deference to whoever he bonded with, but it made life so much easier that they all liked and respected his chosen one for the person he was. 

Blair had also met and been liked by his family. At first, his Guide had demurred at attending the regular family dinner so soon; but Jim had successfully argued that since his chosen Guide would be such a big part of his life, his family had the right to meet the one he wanted to claim. The family dinner was the first time Jim had seen his Guide wearing anything other than his G.E.P. uniform. After that, he still wore the uniform when they were on duty, but outside work hours, civilian clothing slowly began making appearances.

Jim’s mother had run off with the tennis pro from the local club when he was five and his brother Steven was three. It had been a great shock to his father William, a workaholic whose time had all been focused on expanding the business he’d inherited from his own father. Left on his own with two young boys, he had hired a housekeeper; Sally had become a substitute mother who loved those boys as her own sons, then expanded to become a loving grandma to Steven’s three children.

As a single parent, William had drastically re-ordered his priorities and made an interesting discovery; although a business opportunity might be lost by attending an event one of his son’s participated in rather than a meeting, the business never suffered for it. On the other hand, time lost with his sons could never be recaptured, and the close relationships he had developed with both of them had become the joy of his life.

Steven loved his job as C.E.O of the company, but Jim was thankful his father had never tried to force him into the same mould; he’d have jumped from the roof of Ellison Tower before the first week was out. Steven adored his wife, Anna, and their children, Kimberley, Ben and Jesse, and was adored in return, having followed his father’s example in always giving his family priority over his work.

Just how lucky he had been to grow up in a loving home, with all the necessities of life, as well as many of its luxuries provided, was brought home again to Jim again by a drug lab explosion that left bullet-ridden bodies in the wreckage.

“Alex and I used to live in this building when we first came to Cascade,” Blair said as they stood in the shell of the blown apart warehouse that had been the drug lab, and was now a hive of brightly lit police activity. “Right through here, in fact.” He scrambled through the gaping hole in the wall into the next section of the building and called back cheerfully, “Yeah, this used to be our place, all right.”

Jim climbed through the wall after him, and asked in disbelief, “You lived in a warehouse?”

“Alex didn’t make much money while she was apprenticed, so it was the best we could afford. And we made a bit of extra money by renting out some of the space for storage.” He did a slow turn, a happy smile on his face as he took in the rubble-strewn area of his former home. “We didn’t have anywhere near enough money to heat the place in winter, though. The nights that were really cold, we’d put all the blankets we had on one bed, and pile in together with a couple of hot water bottles. We had this little black and white TV we scrounged out of a dumpster so sometimes we’d watch that, and sometimes Alex would tell me about legendary Sentinels and Guides instead. She knows just about every story there is, ancient and modern.”

A shadow squeaked as it scuttered along the far wall, diving into the safety of the darkness as the light pouring in through the hole in the adjoining wall abruptly ended.

“There are **rats** in here,” Jim exclaimed in disgust.

“Well, yeah, but I only ever got bitten that one time. It hurt like hell, but it was kinda funny watching Alex chase the critter all over the place so we could take the body to the hospital with us to check for disease.”

Jim’s jaw clenched at the images that sent flashing through his brain. “Where did it bite you?”

Obviously, some of the tension clutching at him came through in his tone, because Blair said soothingly, “James, we had a home where no one hurt us, we had enough to eat, and I got to go to school every day. I even had my own card for the local library. This place was like heaven to us.”

His Guide had lived in a freezing, rat-infested warehouse and thought it was heaven. He couldn’t even begin to comprehend that. “Where. Did. It. Bite. You?”

With a sigh, Blair pulled his right arm out of his jacket, unbuttoned the cuff and rolled up the sleeve of his uniform shirt, then pushed up the long sleeve of the T-shirt underneath. His arm finally bare, he held it out to the Sentinel and pointed to the appropriate spot.

Jim wrapped one hand around his wrist, supporting the arm while he ran the fingertips of his other hand over the scar. With his touch and sight dialled up to the max, he could see and feel the marks where teeth had bitten, and the jagged edge where the flesh had torn. Along the perimeter of the scar, he could also see and feel the pinpoints where eleven stitches had held the wound together for healing.

“James.” His Guide’s free hand stroked his face, drawing his attention away from the too-close focus on the scar. “It was along time ago and I’m fine. It doesn’t even twinge in the cold weather.”

“I hate that you got hurt. And I hate that I wasn’t there to stop it happening.”

“I know, but you’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

Jim drew the T-shirt sleeve down over his arm again, then rolled down the uniform sleeve and buttoned up the cuff again before very carefully helping his Guide put his arm back into the jacket sleeve. Then he gently pulled Blair into a hug and held him close, opening up his senses and weaving them around his Guide, making sure he was not injured in any way.

Blair went willingly into the embrace, knowing Jim needed to confirm he was safe and whole to counterbalance the sensory input from the old injury. The fierce desire to protect and cherish that the Sentinel projected almost swamped him; he released a sigh of pleasure as the now familiar red tendrils of the other’s psyche slid into his mind, and leaned further into the solid body wrapped around him.

Each time they connected, he felt the need for this Sentinel burn deeper and deeper into his blood; soon he would be addicted, with no hope of ever setting himself free again. He knew that should frighten him, but with each passing day, the freedom he had once deemed so paramount was fading into a distant memory. In these arms, he was safe and loved, and that was slowly becoming all that mattered.

He tipped his head to one side, allowing Jim better access to scent the curve of his neck. His last coherent thought for some time was that if he could find a way to bottle this feeling, he’d make a fortune.

******

  
The case progressed, growing in complexity. The obvious scenario that a rival gang had destroyed the drug lab quickly expanded to include a mounting body count, a potential gang war, and a police officer named Earl Gaines as the main suspect. On the run from both gangs and the police, Gaines had promised to talk to Jim if his grandmother, who lived alone and was almost blind, was protected first.

“I’ll go get her,” Blair volunteered.

“No.” Jim didn’t even stop to think about that. “You’re not a cop.”

“That’s the whole point, man. Those gangbangers will take one look at you and know you are.”

“Whereas your uniform will make you blend right in.”

“Hey, give me five minutes in a thrift store and I’ll be the stereotypical social services nerd.”

“That’s settled then,” Simon interrupted before Jim could protest again. “You go in, you get Mrs. Lacroix, and you get out. No heroics, just in and out.”

Jim watched as Blair, dressed in his new clothes, talked his way past the thugs guarding Mrs. Lacroix’s apartment building. Earlier, he’d won the brief argument about where and by whom the clothes would be brought— _(“No Guide of mine is shopping at a thrift store, and my Visa is quite capable of handling this, thank you.”)_ —although Jim now suspected he’d only won because Blair didn’t want to push his luck after being allowed to fetch the grandmother.

His cell phone rang, interrupting his brooding. “Ellison.”

 _“Yeah, hi. It's me,”_ Blair said, his tone indicating he knew Jim wouldn’t like what he was about to say. _“We’ve got a little problem. Mrs. Lacroix won't leave.”_

“Then I want you out of there now. I'll put a surveillance team outside.”

_“No, I don't want to do that. It's not safe to leave her alone.”_

“You're not a cop!” Jim reminded him. Again.

_“I know, but trust me, I can handle this. I promise I’ll give you a call at the first sign of trouble, okay? Bye.”_

And before Jim could tell him, no, that definitely was not okay, he’d hung up. Swearing under his breath, the Sentinel closed his own phone. The only way he could get his Guide out of there now was to go in and drag him out by the scruff of his neck; and that would announce the police presence at the building, thus defeating the whole purpose of sending him in undercover in the first place.

So he reluctantly left his Guide in the building while he went off to deal with Gaines and discover that the real turncoat was Gaines’s superior officer, Lieutenant Williams. It turned out Blair had also been busy during that time; he’d organized the residents of the building into a Safety Committee, which had foiled an attempt to kidnap Mrs. Lacroix, and routed the gang members out of the building. He’d also scored a supper invitation for themselves and Simon for that night with Mrs. Lacroix and Earl Gaines.

It was enough to drive a Sentinel to drink.

“Simon, could you give us a moment please?” Jim was proud of how calmly he made that request.

Simon almost said, “It’s **my** office, dammit!”, but one look at the white-faced Sentinel who’d just found out what his Guide had been up to convinced him now was not the time to make a stand. On his way out, he paused to shut the blinds on the windows looking out on the bullpen, then closed the door behind him.

In the deafening silence he left behind, the Sentinel advanced on his Guide, deliberately crowding him until his back was against the wall. Placing a hand against the wall on either side of the smaller man’s head, Jim bent down until they were nose to nose and snarled, “Which part of ‘no heroics’ wasn’t clear to you?”

He saw the anger flare in Blair’s eyes, saw his mouth open to make an undoubtedly hot reply; but in the instant before the words could form, his eyes widened and the anger suddenly disappeared.

“Shhh, it’s all right. I’m here and I’m safe.”  Wrapping his arms around Jim, he pressed close, and the Sentinel realized he was shaking. That he had been shaking from the moment he’d grasped the fact that Blair had led a group of unarmed senior citizens in rebellion against weapon-toting gangbangers. Gangbangers who’d already shown they weren’t afraid of using violence to achieve their aims.

His Guide’s voice continued murmuring a soothing litany as the Sentinel’s arms clamped around the smaller body, and his senses extended to check for any sign of injury. Strands of gold curled through his mind, comforting, reassuring, slowly calming him until the shaking finally stopped.

With one last sensory sweep to confirm his Guide was indeed unharmed, Jim pulled back from their embrace. Transferring his grip to Blair’s shoulders, he tugged him a safe distance away from the wall and shook him. Hard. “You **promised** to call me at the first sign of trouble!”

“And I would have, if there had been any,” came the breathless and indignant retort.

“So what exactly do you call gangbangers with guns coming to kidnap Mrs. Lacroix?”

“It was only one gun, and the Safety Committee had no problem taking it away.”

“‘Safety Committee,’” Jim repeated in disbelief. “They’re a bunch of civilians!”

“They’re a bunch of civilians who are reclaiming their neighbourhood.” In spite of just having had his teeth rattled, Blair beamed at him and gave a little bounce. “Isn’t that cool? I promised we’d help them set up a proper Neighbourhood Watch programme and everything.”

 _“He was always protesting some social or environmental cause, trying to make the world a better place for future generations.”_ Doctor Stoddard’s words echoed in Jim’s head, and for the first time he caught a glimpse of what Blair had been like before his sister was hurt.

That realisation over-rode his anger at Blair being so careless of his safety. Of its own accord, his hand lifted to his Guide’s hair, wrapping a curl around his index finger. “Yeah, that’s cool. You did good, Chief.”

“Thanks.” The dazzling smile widened even further at the praise. “We’d better get a move on or we’ll be late for supper. And I gotta tell you, lack of punctuality is something Mrs. Lacroix will frown on.”

“Gaines said if he misbehaves, she whacks him with her skillet.”

“Oh, man, I’ve seen that skillet. Let’s go before she comes after us with it.”

“I’m with you there.” Jim released the curl and slung his arm around the younger man’s shoulders as they left the office. “It’ll do you good to have a proper home-cooked meal for once, instead of junk food.”

Blair rolled his eyes. “Don’t start with me, Sentinel.”

******

  
Accepted by Jim’s family, Blair felt the need to take his Sentinel to meet the only family he had. Simon gave them the day off once the paperwork had been completed on all of Williams’ misdeeds, and that was the day he drove Jim out to the hospice to introduce him to Alex.

He wondered if perhaps he should give his Sentinel some warning about what might happen. In the end, he decided not to; sometimes nothing happened, and he’d sound like a candidate for the nearest funny farm if this were one of those times. Better to just wait and see.

When they arrived at the hospice, he took the precaution of introducing Jim to Nellie, the ex-C.I.A. agent in charge of the hospice.

“You going undercover, lamb chop?” the short, grandmotherly woman asked. “I’ve never seen you in anything except that black uniform before.”

“Yeah, it’s been a while since I wore civvies.” _Since I joined the Enforcement Programme, in fact._ “Nellie, this is Jim Ellison. He’ll be around from time to time.”

“I take it you don’t want me to shoot him when I see him,” she said, looking Jim up and down like he was a piece of meat she was thinking of buying.

Blair gave her a big-eyed, hopeful smile. “I would prefer it if you didn’t.”

“Okay, lamb chop, your beef stick is safe with me.”

“Thanks, Nellie.” He took Jim by the arm and hustled him down the hallway towards Alex’s room, whispering, “Don’t ask about the lamb chop and beef stick thing ’cause, trust me, you **don’t** want to know. And, yes, if I tell her to, she really will shoot you dead without even blinking.”

In Alex’s room, Blair closed the door behind them and greeted his sister with a kiss. “Hey, sweetie, I’ve brought you a visitor. This is Jim Ellison—I’ve told you all about him, remember?”

“Hello, Alex.” Jim felt slightly foolish talking to someone who obviously wasn’t going to respond, and probably had no idea he was even there. “It’s nice to meet you after hearing so much about you.”

“Okay, James, grab a couple of chairs and bring them up to the bed.” Jim did as he was asked, while Blair fussed about his sister, straightening the bedclothes and retying the ribbon in her hair.

“Right, take a seat, and then hold Alex’s hand.”

Puzzled, Jim did as he was told. Blair sat down next to him, and wrapped both his hands around Jim and Alex’s, pressing then together.

“Blair, what exactly are we doing?”

“Taking a magical mystery tour, I hope. Close your eyes, my Sentinel.”

As the wave of empathetic reassurance flooded over him, Jim obediently closed his eyes...

_**....and opened them again to find himself standing on an unfamiliar seashore. In the distance, waves crashed against the sand, and a short way along the beach, a woman dressed in a colourful T-shirt and shorts set was building an intricate sandcastle. An easel was set up a few steps away from the sandcastle, an incomplete painting that involved a lot of purple and blue resting there.** _

_**“It worked, it worked!” His Guide was bouncing in front of him, grinning like a loon. “It really worked for both of us.”** _

_**“What worked? Where are we?”** _

_**“This is the spirit plane where Alex lives while her body is in the coma. Come on.”** _

_**Jim was used to the blue jungle where his mind went during a zone out, but this was way outside his experience. Before he could say anything, his Guide turned and hurtled across the beach, shouting his sister’s name. The woman stood up and caught him to her in a fierce embrace; then she looked up to meet the other Sentinel’s gaze with dark blue eyes that matched her brother’s.** _

_**When Jim started walking towards them, she pushed Blair behind her in an instinctively protective move.** _

_**“It’s all right, Alex, he’s mine. He won’t hurt either of us.” With that quiet reassurance, Blair moved out from behind her and started fishing in the pockets of his jacket. “Here, I brought you something.”** _

_**“Oooh, more paint.” Alex seized the proffered tubes eagerly.** _

_**“Thanks, Jake, I’m almost out of those colours.”** _

_**She placed them on the easel while Blair smiled happily at Jim. “Wanna help us with the sandcastle?”** _

_**“This is why you smelled like the ocean that day at the stakeout, isn’t it?”** _

_**“Sure is,” he answered, as if travelling to a different plane of existence was the most normal thing in the world. “So, you helping with this sandcastle or what?”** _

_**Jim’s brain gave up trying to deal with the surreal part of this experience and settled for the familiar. He was at the beach, so he would make a sandcastle. Nothing could be more normal than that.** _

_**So the three of them built the sandcastle, paddled in the ocean, and napped. Alex worked on her painting, pointedly ignoring Jim’s suggestions about the colour scheme. The sun was beginning to sink into the ocean when Blair reluctantly accepted it was time to leave. He hugged Alex goodbye, and she looked over his shoulder at his Sentinel while she held him close.** _

_**“You take good care of my little brother.” It was both a benediction and a threat.** _

_**“My life to protect his.”** _

_**The Sentinel sister nodded, accepting that promise as her Guide brother’s due, then Blair stepped away from her...** _

 

...and they were back in the hospital room. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, casting dark shadows through the windows.

Jim looked at his Guide, who gently disconnected their hands from Alex’s. “That was...”

“Real. As in, not a dream.”

“Oh.”

“You okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m just...”

“Processing?” Blair suggested.

“Yeah, processing.”

“Well, while you’re processing, let’s go get something to eat. I’m never hungry or thirsty in the spirit plane, but it really catches up with me when I get back.”

Jim suddenly had a frightening thought. “You do this a lot?”

“Some times more than others.”

“Oh.”

“Come on, tough guy. You’ll feel better about it when you’ve eaten.”

“I hope so. ’Cause that was definitely...”

“Weird?”

“Weird doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

As Jim allowed his Guide to lead him out of the room, he added thoughtfully, “It was a nice beach, though. Do you think we could get a surfboard over there?”

 

******

  
Jim had remembered to tell the Institute to cancel the Guides coming in from interstate; but just when the gangs Williams had attempted to use as cover for his illegal activities signed a truce and everything returned to what passed for normal, his father reminded him of an obligation he’d totally forgotten about.

“Who’s Cassandra Welles?” he asked, when his father said the name like it should mean something to him.

“She’s the Guide you agreed to meet when she came to Cascade this week for a friend’s wedding. You’re supposed to have dinner with her tomorrow night.”

“I am?” Jim shrugged. “Oh, well, no point now. I’ve already found my one true Guide.”

“Jimmy, you know I would never try to interfere with that.” William placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “All I’m asking is that you spend one evening with Cassandra. That way you don’t insult her father by snubbing her, and afterwards you can just say you’re not compatible. Disappointing for the family, of course, but these things happen, so no harm, no foul.”

“Disappointing for you, too, Dad?”

“I won’t deny I was interested in the business opportunities that would come from a family connection, but you’re my son and I love you. Your happiness is far more important to me than any business deal.”

“I know.” Jim sighed. “I’ll talk to Blair and make sure he’s okay with it first. I won’t do anything to upset him.”

 

*******

  
When the situation was explained to him, Blair had given his permission for the dinner to go ahead. Jim didn’t know whether to be pleased about his Guide being so reasonable— _(“James, it’s only a dinner, and it’s important to your father that you go. So go, already.”)_ —or insulted that he regarded his Sentinel spending an evening with another Guide so lightly.

On the positive side, Cassandra Welles was pretty. Unfortunately, she was also vain, self-important and shallow, and used to her daddy’s money buying her anything she wanted.

On top of that, Cassandra had organized a private dinner in her suite, instead of the public meal in the hotel restaurant he had expected. There was a significant difference between the two locations; and he had a sinking suspicion that when Blair found out about their being sequestered like this, it would be filed under Just That Little Bit Too Much For Even A Reasonable Guide To Take.

And find out he would, since being his father’s son meant Jim’s social activities were often commented on in the society columns. At least one tip-off from someone in the hotel was inevitable, given what the columnists coyly alluded to as 'the intimate dining arrangements'. The best he could hope for was to limit the damage by a pre-emptive strike; he’d avoid any possibility of being accused of clandestine behaviour by telling Blair about it himself as soon as he escaped the dinner from hell.

_Sigh. I’m having a dinner I don’t want, in a room where I don’t want to be, in the company of a woman I don’t want to be with. None of this is my fault, but somehow I just know I’m going to end up apologizing big time for all of the above before tonight is over._

In an evening that dragged by with tortuous slowness, Jim let a corner of his brain dream about taking out his weapon _(Left it locked in the truck, damn!)_ and just putting himself out of his misery. They had almost finished the main course when Jim’s cell phone rang.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” he apologized to Cassandra, trying to sound sincere about that. “I’m on call tonight.”

With a silent plea to any god who might be listening that this would be Simon with a case that meant he had to leave right away, he dug the phone out of his jacket pocket. But it wasn’t Simon; instead the LCD showed Blair’s cell number, and he hurriedly flipped the phone open.

“What’s up?”

_“I tried to be reasonable about this, I really did.”_

“I know.”

_“Yeah, well, this is not Mr. Reasonable lurking out here in the hallway, ready to commit mayhem.”_

Automatically, Jim extended his hearing and sure enough, his Guide’s elevated heartbeat was on the other side of the wall. Dialling it back again, he answered, “No, it wouldn’t be.”

_“And you didn’t say anything about the dinner being in her room.”_

Oh, yeah, definitely Just That Little Bit Too Much. “I didn’t know.”

_“Then know this, James Joseph Ellison. You’ve got exactly one minute to get your Sentinel butt out here before I break down that door and drag you out by your hair.”_

That’s more like it!  “I’ll be right there.” Closing the phone and dropping it back in his pocket, he tried to make his tone suitably apologetic as he said, “I’m sorry Cassandra, I have to leave.”

She pouted. “Surely they can find someone else for tonight?”

“No, I’m afraid not.” He removed his napkin and laid it on the table. “Thank you for being willing to meet with me.”

“Of course I was willing. We’re going to make a great pair.”

“Cassandra.” Trying to let her down lightly, Jim patted her hand in what he hoped was a soothing manner. “I’m sure you’re a great Guide, and some Sentinel will be very lucky to have you. That Sentinel just isn’t me.”

Her eyes hardened. “What are you talking about? Of course it’s you.”

“I’m sorry, but it isn’t.” He stood up. “Apart from anything else, I don’t think you’d care for police work at all, and my career isn’t about to change.”

“I’m sure our fathers’ collective influence will be more than enough to secure an executive position for you.”

Jim barely suppressed a shiver at the thought. “No thanks. I like working out on the street.”

He managed to take several steps towards the door and freedom before she was in front of him.

“Why are you being so difficult about this?” she demanded, her hands pressed against his chest to block his escape. “The tests show we’re empathetically compatible, we’re from the same social level, and our bonding will benefit both our fathers’ businesses. What more could you want?”

Her hands burned even through the layers of his jacket and shirt, and he pulled them away. “A soul mate who sees me as the other half of their being, not just a socially acceptable business proposition.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, this is the twenty first century! Old-fashioned sentimentality like that does nothing but hinder progress.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” he answered and stepped around her, moving towards the door.

“No one walks away from me!” With his back to her, he didn’t see her expression suddenly turn ugly, but his hyper-senses allowed him to move aside in time to avoid the vase she hurled at his head. It smashed harmlessly against the wall, although he wouldn’t like to be the one trying to get all the shards out of the deep pile carpet.

Out in the hallway, he found a surprising lack of Blair. Inhaling deeply, he let his Guide’s scent wash through him, and opened out his hearing to listen for the familiar heartbeat. It was close by, and he tracked it effortlessly down the hallway to...a door marked Staff Only. His Guide was hiding in a closet?

Confused, he opened the door and peered inside. “Chief, you in here?”

In answer, hands seized the front of his jacket and hauled him inside, the door shutting behind him with a distinct slam. A faint light bulb glowed in the darkness, designed to prevent anyone panicking in the darkness if the door got shut before the overhead lights were turned on.

The small room smelt faintly of laundry powder and starch, overlaid by the vibrant scent of his one true Guide. He was pushed up against shelves full of sheets and towels, then his Guide was plastered up against him, pulling his tie loose and unbuttoning his shirt collar.

A chuckle escaped him as he wrapped his arms tightly around his Guide, securing him in place against his chest. “Sheesh, Blair, in a closet?”

“You’re mine.” The words were growled as Blair pushed the tie and collar aside to graze his teeth over the hollow of his Sentinel’s throat. “She comes near you again, I’m gonna burn her out.”

 _Okay, Mr. Reasonable is definitely not at home right now._ “I belong to you, only you.”

“Prove it.” His head lifted, and Jim caught a glimpse of something ancient and dark simmering in his eyes. “Mark me.”

He managed to keep the Sentinel under control long enough to ask, “Are you sure it’s what you want? Once it’s done, I won’t give you a choice anymore.”

“Yes.” Impatiently, Blair pulled his Sentinel’s head down to the curve of his neck. “Now.”

A shiver of hungry excitement skittered through him as Jim scented him, breathing in through open mouth to feast on both scent and taste of his Guide. Warm breath puffed against Blair’s skin, and he tipped his head back to allow his Sentinel better access to his throat.

Tingles of pleasure-pain flared where teeth nipped at his flesh, and a slow heat began curling up through the base of his stomach. He pressed closer to his Sentinel and lowered his empathetic barriers; and for the first time the red tendrils of the other’s psyche entwined with the golden threads of his own. The red-gold cord wound through his head, igniting new pathways in preparation for the final claiming and the permanent connection to his life Sentinel. He cried out as his throat was suddenly bitten hard, flooding his brain with the endorphins that sealed the new pathways open, attuning his whole being to this one Sentinel.

Floating in a haze of pleasure, he felt Jim worrying at the bite he’d made, marking him, breaking the skin to taste his life force as the changes in the Sentinel’s own brain were sealed, attuning his whole being to this one Guide.

Curled up out of the way under the rows of sheets and pillowcases, the panther and the wolf exchanged a look that said “Finally!” as clearly as any words.

Later, Blair would have time to be embarrassed that it happened in a linen closet at the hotel because he didn’t have the control to wait until they were somewhere more appropriate. But for now, everything he needed and wanted was in this particular closet with this particular Sentinel, and he had no intention of going anywhere any time soon.

******

  
Now that the Marking had taken place, Blair had to face certain facts.

Fact Number One: he was going to be Life Bonded in the very near future, which meant that being separated from his Sentinel for three months while the anthropologist disappeared into the jungles of Borneo on his research trip simply wasn’t an option.

Which in turn meant he had to find another topic for his dissertation. Given his reasons, it wasn’t likely he’d get any flack over asking to change the topic. Although Chancellor Edwards would be only too glad to throw him out of the programme on his ear, she wasn’t foolhardy enough to insult the Cascade Clan by expelling their soon-to-be Senior Guide Prime for such a reason. Not to mention that once bonded, he’d also be the Senior Guide Prime of the entire Northwest Territories, and anyone who annoyed that many Sentinels and Guides had a shorter life expectancy than a suicidal lemming.

And Blair had to admit it appealed to the dark side of his nature, which had recently begun to surface, to get in her face from time to time just to see her make the effort to be polite to someone she’d prefer to squash like a bug.

“I’ll take some vacation time and come with you,” Jim announced. He’d entered his Guide’s university office to find him surrounded by books and scribbled notes, and had perched on the edge of the desk next to him to ask what he was working on.

Blair took off his glasses and sat back in his chair to look up at him. “James, I know you’d be happy to do that for me and I do appreciate it, but it’s not that simple. It took forever, not to mention mounds of the most painful paperwork I’ve ever seen, to get permission for the trip because the people in that area have a totally traditional lifestyle. One less person coming won’t be a problem, but if I try to add one more now, The Powers That Be will not only say no, they might even cancel everyone else’s permits as well.”

“Won’t the others need to replace you?”

“Nah, we’re all doing separate studies. We just felt safer going in together since the area is so remote and primitive.”

The Sentinel spared a moment to have a stress attack about his Guide wandering around a remote and primitive area for three months without anyone to take care of him. Something of those emotions must have filtered through to Blair, because he gave Jim a stern look and said,

“James, I’ve been going on expeditions since I was fifteen years old. I don’t need anyone to take care of me when I’m in the field.”

The Sentinel leaned down into his Guide’s personal space and growled, “You need me to take care of you.”

A faint smile curving his lips, Blair reached up and brushed the back of his fingers over his Sentinel’s cheek. “That’s different. You’re my Sentinel.”

Pleased with that response, the Sentinel straightened up and Jim asked, “Would your dissertation committee accept a thesis on the Cascade Dark Sentinel Clan?”

For a moment, Blair wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “You’d let me do that?”

“There’s always someone wanting to study us, so why not the Senior Guide Prime of the Clan? At least that way we know we can trust the anthropologist involved.”

A grin split his face. “Wow, this is so cool. Edwards will have a coronary when she finds out I’ve got a topic like this.”

Jim frowned. “Is she still giving you a hard time?”

The grin turned slightly feral. “No, _I’m_ giving her a hard time. I was looking forward to telling her I don’t need the grant you made her give me, but this will be way better.”

“Blair, I don’t want you doing this just to get back at Edwards.”

“No, no, no, no. That’s just an added bonus.” A sudden thought occurred to him. “Will the Clan be all right about me studying them?”

“They’ll do what I tell them.”

“No, no, no, no,” Blair said for the second time, and jumped up to start pacing the room. “If I do this, it has to be because the Clan is willing to be involved. Apart from forced participation being wrong on so many levels, you have no idea how unreliable that can make the information given out.”

“Right. Voluntary participation only.”

“Oh, man, this is the kind of subject doctorate students would kill for. Scratch that, tenured **professors** would kill for this chance, and it’s all mine. I never even thought this was an option for me, and now it’s going to...”

Jim watched to his Guide pace the room, his hands waving as he made a point. The words washed over him in a meaningless stream of anthro-speak, but the actual words weren’t important; he would happily listen to his Guide read the telephone book just for the pleasure of hearing his voice.

******

  
Fact Number Two: the Ellison family was generous to a fault, and out to give as much as they could make him take in the matter of Guide Gifts. In ancient times, the Sentinel had to prove to the Guide’s family that he or she was capable of providing food, clothing and other physical necessities for the Guide; in modern times, that had morphed into providing financial security, with a formal contract registered at the Institute for that purpose.

Usually, the Guide’s parents negotiated the settlement, but since that wasn’t an option for Blair, he’d asked Megan to handle the negotiations on his behalf. Unfortunately, he soon discovered she was quite happy to take whatever they offered and then go back for more, which led to him vetoing a number of the offers the family made.  
 _  
_ _(“William, half this amount is more than sufficient for the monetary settlement.”)_

_(“No, I don’t need an investment house on the lake, thank you all the same.”)_

_(“The latest BMW really isn’t necessary. My sister gave me the Volvo when I started college and I’m too attached to it to give it up. Well, yes, if you really want to do something car-related, a complete overhaul of the Volvo is a viable option.”)_

_(“Steven, stocks and bonds may be a necessary part of financial security, but this portfolio you’ve put together is more security than I’ll ever need in three lifetimes.”)_

******

 

A bonding ceremony marked the legal recognition of a Sentinel and Guide as a bonded pair, and could take place either before or after the actual bonding occurred. Two things needed to happen to make the ceremony official; the contract had to be signed and the symbolic rings that announced their relationship to the non Sentinel-Guide world had to be exchanged.

The ceremony itself could range from something as simple as signing the contracts and exchanging the rings in front of a duly appointed official, all the way up to the lavish ceremony William insisted on funding. It was only thing he refused to compromise on— _(“You’ll break Sally’s heart if you don’t let her organize a ceremony to do her oldest son proud.”)_ —and since Sally was showing every sign of adding Blair to her list of adopted sons, he couldn’t find it in his own heart to argue. He was just relieved that their week off following the ceremony was going to be spent camping in the mountains— _(“We’ve got indoor plumbing and a lake full of fish. What more do we need?”)_ —and not at one of the various exotic five-star resorts that had been mentioned as possibilities during the negotiations.

As a side issue of these negotiations, Blair’s difficulty in choosing a suitable bonding gift for his Sentinel increased exponentially with the Ellisons’ generosity. On his income, he had no way to afford a gift that would do justice to the settlement he would receive.

His Sentinel was no help, either— _(“You’ve already given me everything I want by bonding with me.”)_ —until an exasperated sigh after one such conversation finally dredged up a reluctant,

“Weelll, there is one thing.”

Blair pounced. “Hah, I knew it. What is it?”

Jim flushed and looked down at his hands as he mumbled something too quietly for Blair to hear.

“James, I don’t have Sentinel-level hearing, you know.” He patted his Sentinel’s knee reassuringly and projected encouragement and understanding.  
“Just tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you.”

Still not looking at him, Jim mumbled, “Grow your hair long.”

He blinked, not sure he’d heard that right. “You want me to grow my hair?”

An embarrassed nod. “It feels so good this short, I keep thinking long would be Sentinel heaven.”

 _My hair is heaven? Wow._ “I used to have it down to my shoulders.”

Jim finally looked up. “I know. Dr. Stoddard showed me a photo that day I was in his office.”

“The one with the fish, that he keeps on his bookcase?”

“That’s the one.”

Blair thought that over. The man in that photo didn’t exist anymore and would never exist again; but now he wasn’t the person he’d changed into after Alex was hurt, either. Maybe having long hair once more was the appropriate outward sign of the merging of both people into the man he was growing into since he’d found his Sentinel. _Sheesh, talk about looking for deeper meaning in a simple tactile-based request._

Misinterpreting his silence, Jim said, “Forget I said anything. It’s not important.”

“Yes, it is. If you want my hair long, I’ll grow it for you.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Just as long as you realize I’m going to look like a golliwog for a while.”

The Sentinel twisted a curl around his index finger. “I can live with golliwog.”

They exchanged a smile, then Blair added, “I’m going to find that spear in the photo and take it camping with us. Then you’ll see how fishing should really be done.”

“In your dreams, Sandburg. The only way to catch fish where we’re going is with a fly rod.”

“You want to bet?” he challenged with unbecoming smugness, and the conversation degenerated into deciding exactly what the one who caught the most fish would win from the other.

******

  
Fact Number Three: explaining to Jim that Megan was Blair’s Shield, and by extension Shield to both Jim and the Clan. It had to be done before the Clan officially accepted Blair as their Senior Guide Prime, because she would also have to be accepted as Shield during that ritual.

Ever since he’d discovered what Megan was, Blair had spent what free time he had researching the role of the Shield in a Sentinel Clan. Fortunately, Rainier University prided itself on being the research centre for all things Sentinel and Guide related; he’d managed to track down a number of obscure references to a Shield’s role and function within both the pairing and the Clan.

Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be much information beyond what he already knew. On the few occasions a Shield did appear, the link was always made with a Dark Pair and always through the Dark Guide. The Shield’s primary role was to protect and support the Dark Guide, and if necessary, also the Dark Sentinel. Vengeance for hurt to either, to any in the Clan or to those under Clan protection, could also be exacted by the Shield. As an extension of the Guide, the Shield was also exempt from penalty for deeds performed as part of her duty to the Clan.

Basic genetic laws should have meant that a Shield would occur at least every few generations just to keep those particular genes from dying out; but whatever caused a Shield to appear didn’t seem to take those genetic laws into account. Neither was there any mention of what made the difference that brought forth a Shield for one Dark Pair and not another.

_Megs having such an unusual empathetic signature can’t just be a coincidence. I’ve been able to measure her empathetic strength, so it’s just a matter of deciding where to go from that point. There has to be a way to define any other differences and figure out what they mean._

Linking with Megan had changed something in Blair; or perhaps it had just released the Dark Guide who had been dormant until that connection was made. He would never have previously even imagined feeling the primal urge that had sent him careering across town to drag his Sentinel away from the other Guide; not to mention what had happened in the closet afterwards. Reason had taken a definite back seat that night, and frankly, it had been rather exhilarating. No more doubts and fears; just a straightforward determination to claim what was his, and damn the consequences.

The lab tests he’d designed had registered Megan as an unheard of Level Thirteen and, after reading his research notes, Dr. Stoddard had confirmed Blair’s theory that she was indeed the first Shield in two hundred years. In spite of that, Megan was still nervous about revealing her talent, but the bottom line was that they were running out of time. When he and Jim bonded fully for the first time, the Sentinel would find the link between the two of them, which made prior explanations essential. Careful consideration had led Blair to the conclusion that a link between the three of them would help Jim see Megan was no threat to their bond, as well as imprinting her empathetic touch in his mind should she ever need to link with him when Blair wasn’t available.

Accordingly, Blair organized for Megan to join himself and Jim at the loft for dinner, to be followed by explanations. The Sentinel would be more comfortable dealing with this in his own territory, but it was still a situation that needed to be handled delicately. Megan hadn’t been at all impressed when he’d told her she’d need to show submission to Jim as the alpha Sentinel— _(“I’d rather stick pins in my eyes while eating brussel spouts.”)_ —but he’d finally managed to convince her it was not only necessary, but also not humiliating in any way.

_Oh, well, if all else fails career-wise, I can always join the Diplomatic Corps. That has to be a piece of cake after getting a Sentinel and Shield to accept each other, not to mention the entire Clan to accept the Shield. **Argh!** Why does it always have to be me?! _

******

  
Dinner eaten and the dishes done, they moved into the living area. Blair wasn’t surprised when Jim unsubtly manoeuvred Megan into the armchair furthest from him while seating the pair of them together on the couch, effectively separating his Guide from Megan as much as possible under the circumstances.

With everyone situated, Blair explained Megan’s unique talent to his Sentinel. When he finished talking, silence reigned in the loft.

“She’s what?” Jim finally said.

“Megan is our Shield, James,” Blair repeated patiently. “That means she—”

“I know what it means. I heard you the first time.” He inhaled and released a deep, calming breath. “Sorry, Chief, I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just—are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Why her? I mean, of all the people in the world, why did it have to be her?”

“I’m not exactly thrilled at being your Shield, either, Ellison,” Megan retorted immediately. “Any time you want to drop dead, it’s fine with me.”

“Guys, this isn’t helping.”

The guilty pair stared accusingly at each other, and for a moment, Blair almost expected a ‘he/she started it/did not/did, too’ debate to break out between them. Instead, the truculent pair muttered ‘sorry’ while ostentatiously not looking at each other, and he mentally rolled his eyes at such a mature start to the proceedings.

“All right, then.” _Now for the hard part._ “James, you and Megan need to imprint your empathetic touch in each other’s mind. I’ll link the two of you, then I’ll pull back far enough to let you get familiar with each other—”

“No.” Jim’s denial held a hint of panic. “I only belong to you.”

“James.” He reached up to lay his hand against his Sentinel’s cheek, soothing with his touch. “Linking with a Shield is totally different to the bond between Sentinel and Guide. You need to be able to recognize that link when you find it in my mind, so you’ll know it’s no threat to our bond. And you and Megan need to be able to link with each other in case it’s ever necessary when I’m not there.”

Silence while that was processed, then reluctantly, “How do we do this?”

“Megs,” Blair prompted, gently.

She looked at him for a long moment, her lips pressed together in a thin, straight line. Her empathetic signature clearly showed the clash between her fiercely loyal Shield instincts and the strong desire to kick the Sentinel where it would hurt the most. He waited without speaking further for her to decide which to follow, then finally she rose to her feet and moved slowly to stand before the Sentinel. She knelt gracefully, her long hair sliding forward to hide her face as she dropped her head forward in the classic gesture of submission. “Your Guide, marked and claimed. Honoured is your bond.”

Jim laid a hand on her head, a gesture that both acknowledged and accepted her submission. “Honoured is my bond.”

She rose to her feet and sat rigidly in the far corner of the couch, determinedly creating a gap of several inches between herself and the Sentinel.

“Right.” Using his best soothing Guide voice, Blair led them into the next step. “James, you and I will link first, then I’ll link Megan with both of us.”

He leaned into the side of his Sentinel, who slid his arm around his Guide and tugged him even closer. He closed his eyes and rested his head on his Sentinel’s shoulder as he mentally reached out for the other’s psyche. The red-gold cord curled through his mind, hesitant at first with the Sentinel’s lingering doubts about linking with anyone but his one true Guide. Blair focused on his commitment to his one true Sentinel and the cord grew stronger and clearer, sinking deeper into his psyche than ever before.

Without opening his eyes, he held out his hand to Megan. When she hesitantly placed her hand in his, he carefully drew her into the link he shared with his Sentinel, knowing there would be no second chances if he messed up now. Slowly, the deep purple strands slid into his mind, the faintness of the usually vibrant colour a reflection of Megan’s uncertainty of it being accepted. He encouraged her to come closer and the colour deepened, the purple strands wrapping around and supporting the red-gold cord of the Sentinel-Guide bond.

Now for the tricky part. He pulled back gently, reducing his input gradually so that his Sentinel and Shield weren’t alarmed by his withdrawal, and hovered on the edge of their psyches to watch the red and purple thread around each other. The resulting cord was thin and delicate compared to the one between himself and his Sentinel, but it was definitely permanent.

With equal care, Blair reinserted himself back into the telepathic cord, and the tri-colours glowed stronger than ever before as the cord thickened and strengthened again, signalling the successful integration of the Shield. Unhurriedly, he brought the three of them out of the connection until the world swam back into focus and they sat blinking at each other in slightly dazed silence.

It took them a moment to realize they had visitors. On the mat in front of the fireplace sat the panther and the wolf, but this time they were accompanied by another animal. This odd creature had short, brown fur, with dark brown-black stripes along its back from the base of its tail almost to its shoulders, a long, heavy tail and an extended jaw line.

“Is it me, or are there wild animals sitting on the hearth rug?” Megan finally asked.

“The wolf is Blair’s spirit animal and the panther is mine,” Jim answered. “Which means whatever that other one is, it’s yours.”

“It’s a Tasmanian tiger,” Megan informed them. “Australians being the obvious mob that we are, they’re called tigers because of the stripes, but they’re actually marsupial wolves. Technically, they’re extinct, but every year sightings are reported in remote areas of Tasmania.”

Blair nodded. “A technically extinct animal is a really appropriate spirit guide for a Shield.”

The tiger gave a husky, coughing bark that sounded like agreement, then the three animals faded from sight.

“Well, that was...different.” Megan could feel a headache coming on. It was bad enough having to deal with Ellison tonight without metaphysical manifestations on top of it. And speaking of Ellison...

She realized their close physical proximity at almost the same moment as he did. Sometime during the link, he’d wrapped an arm around her and she’d snuggled into him, resting her head on his shoulder in a mirror image of his grip on his Guide. With a muffled curse from each, Jim let her go at the same time as she pushed him away and they glared at each other as she scooted back to the far end of the couch.

Blair mentally rolled his eyes again; some things never changed. Aloud, he said, “That went very well. The link is permanent, and from now on, you should be able to connect any time you need to. It might be an idea to practice, though, just to make sure.”

“We have to do this again?” The protest came in stereo, and this time Blair did roll his eyes.

“Not like this, no. I’m just saying it might be an idea for the two of you to link up a few times when there’s no emergency—you know, like you do a fire drill so you automatically know what to do when a real fire breaks out.”

Megan made a noise that could have meant anything, and stood up. “Sandy, walk me down to my car, would you? I need to go home now.”

“Okay.” He gave his Sentinel a reassuring pat before easing out of his embrace and collecting Megan’s coat from the rack by the door. He helped her into it, and left the loft door open to make it easier for Jim to track him as they walked down the hallway.

“Thank you for tonight, Megs.” He pressed the button to call the elevator to the third floor, and discovered it was already there when the doors opened immediately. “I know that was difficult for you.”

“The pins and brussel sprouts never looked better,” she agreed as they stepped into the elevator. As the doors closed, she reached out to grip his hand; not to ‘talk’, but simply for comfort. He could feel her need for time to process everything that had happened and remained silent, simply sending her empathetic support and understanding.

In the parking lot, she unlocked her car and gave him a quick, hard hug before climbing inside. “See you in the morning.”

She gave a little wave as she drove off, and he retraced his steps back to the apartment, tired, but satisfied with how well the evening had gone.

“See, that wasn’t—ack!” He broke off with a yelp as he turned from closing the door to the loft to find Jim standing mere inches away. “Don’t **do** that.”

Instead of answering Jim moved closer, crowding him against the door. As he backed up, he noticed his Sentinel was now wearing a different shirt to the one he’d had on earlier, and the shirt he’d worn the day before was draped over one shoulder. But before he could ask about either of those things, Jim reached out to unfasten the top button of his shirt.

“What are you doing?” When his Sentinel merely growled and kept unbuttoning, he slapped the hands away. “Stop that.”

“Mine!” His wrists were grabbed and pinned above his head, and he saw the Dark Sentinel looking at him from the light blue eyes. “My scent, not hers!”

 _Oh. It’s a territorial thing._ Understanding dawned and Blair relaxed again. _Megan’s scent would be on both of us, and that’s a bit more than my Sentinel can handle right now._

He concentrated on soothing his Sentinel, projecting his commitment to their bond to reinforce his words. “I belong to you, my Sentinel. Only to you, marked and claimed.”

A small shiver of pleasure ran through him as his Sentinel leaned down to nuzzle at his neck, then he jumped at the sudden growl in his ear. His wrists were transferred to a single hand, while his Sentinel’s other hand fumbled with his remaining shirt buttons. Another growl, this time of frustration, then his shirt was simply ripped open, buttons pinging off the wooden floor in an almost comical manner. The buttons on his cuffs received similar treatment before his hands were released, then his Sentinel pulled the shirt pulled off his body before wadding it up into a ball and hurling it into a corner. The T-shirt he habitually wore underneath his shirt for warmth followed in short order, then his Sentinel reached for the shirt draped over his shoulder. He made approving noises as Blair stood still and allowed himself be buttoned into the too large shirt, accepting the scent marking without protest.

His task completed, the Sentinel looked up and the Guide caught his breath at the heat burning in his Sentinel’s almost black eyes, the irises a thin ring of light blue around the expanded pupils. The Dark Guide stirred in response to the possessive need radiating from his soul mate, and the red-gold cord of their empathetic connection flared brightly between them. Sparks tingled where his Sentinel’s hands stroked over his body, mapping him and igniting a slow burning heat that started somewhere near his toes and wound its way up through his entire body.

A smile of anticipation curved his lips as his hands tangled in his Sentinel’s shirt to pull himself closer. His eyes never leaving those of his Sentinel, he tipped his head back to expose his throat, a deliberately provocative gesture designed to hot-wire straight into the part of the Sentinel genetically programmed to respond to Guide input.

Instinct kicked in and the Sentinel had pried his Guide’s hands away from his shirt before his brain was even aware he’d moved. Flattening those hands against the door at shoulder height in a classic surrender pose, he laced their fingers together and the same sparks he’d felt while mapping his Guide immediately blazed where their palms touched. He had no idea how long they stayed that way while the tingling heat spread up both arms and across his shoulders, centering in his chest where it filled an empty, aching void he hadn’t known existed until this moment.

Pressing his face into the curve of his Guide’s neck, he inhaled through his open mouth, scenting and tasting his Guide at the same time while the siren song of the familiar heartbeat resonated in his ears. The baseline scent that was uniquely his Guide now carried the sweet, musk overtone that signalled his willingness to bond, and the Sentinel scraped his teeth over the column of his Guide’s throat. With a low moan of need, his barriers dropped away completely, the ultimate expression of trust from a Guide. Vulnerable like this, being shielded by his Sentinel was the only thing that kept him from overloading on the ambient emotions of the all the other humans who surrounded him in the city.

The Sentinel fell willingly into his Guide’s mind, feeling the other brush through his own mind like a cooling breeze on a hot summer day. He growled when he found the tiny section of purple that marked his Guide’s connection to the Shield; he knew it was no threat to their bond, but he still didn’t like it being there. Instead, he concentrated on the red-gold cord of the bond with his one true Guide until, without warning, his Guide shifted away from him. Surprised by the sudden withdrawal, he automatically lifted his head to search for what had alarmed his Guide.

The Dark Guide had had enough. He’d stood still like a good little Guide and allowed his Sentinel to scent mark him without objecting, then he’d allowed himself to be mapped, scented and tasted. He’d even given his Sentinel the Guide equivalent of an engraved invitation, and what had happened? A big fat nothing, that’s what, while all the time the need to be claimed built in him until it was an unbridled monster clawing at him to be set free.

He bit his Sentinel hard on the throat, knowing his wide open senses would increase the flash of pleasure-pain from that action enough to hold him still for several moments. He took advantage of that stillness to deepen the bruising so that no one could mistake this Sentinel for anything but marked and claimed, then he snarled, “Sentinel, claim your Guide.”

Psychic energy crackled between them, and the Sentinel didn’t need to be told again. Lowering his mouth to the throat once more being offered to him, he bit his Guide just as hard as he himself had been bitten moments before. His teeth worried at the tender flesh, and the pheromones that completed the permanent link between a bonding pair flooded from the Guide, changing his brain chemistry with their release. The Sentinel inhaled the pheromones, and his brain chemistry also changed; both were now irrevocably sealed to the other for the rest of their lives.

Triggered by the pheromones, the link between them exploded into a red-gold starburst. Memories kaleidoscoped through that starburst as each life history was opened to the other in the final stage of bonding. It was a dizzying head rush for both Sentinel and Guide, who clung weakly to each other as the maelstrom slowly subsided.

“Marked and claimed, Guide.”

“Marked and claimed, Sentinel.”

The age-old vow sealed the bond that could now only be broken by death, and they slid clumsily down the wall into an uncoordinated heap.

******

  
Blair was annoyed. All he wanted to do was sleep, but his pillow insisted on moving. Without opening his eyes, he growled under his breath while he tried to pin it down and hold it still.

“C’mon, Chief, give me a little cooperation here, okay? We need to get up off the floor.”

 _Floor? Why are we on the floor? …Oh, yeah, I remember now._ By an act of supreme willpower, he managed to crack his eyes open, and discovered he was indeed on the floor of the loft, propped up against his Sentinel’s chest.

“Hey, there, sleepyhead.” Jim smiled at him and ghosted his fingertips over his face. “How do you feel?”

An answering smile curved his mouth. Words took more energy than he had at this moment, so instead he simply projected his emotions through their newly forged link.

_Safe._

_Cherished._

_So happy it almost hurts._

The arms around him tightened and he rubbed his face contentedly against his Sentinel. _Man, we have got to figure out a way to bottle this. We’d make an incredible fortune._

Grunting with the effort, Jim managed to haul himself and his Guide to their feet. Blair would need to sleep for the rest of the night while his empathetic barriers were rebuilt to include the new pathways their bonding had forged, and there was no way the Sentinel would allow him to stay on the floor that long.

In spite of still being underweight, Blair had a compact build that meant he was heavier than he looked; and although his Guide was trying to cooperate, his exhausted brain was having trouble directing his feet. Jim also felt some of that same lack of coordination; short of slinging his Guide over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift, he wouldn’t be able to carry him right now, and he refused to treat his chosen one with such lack of dignity on this night.

As a result, they staggered across the living area like a couple of sailors on annual shore leave. He had intended to tuck his Guide into his bed, but the trip to the bottom of the stairs was enough to convince him trying to climb said stairs wasn’t a particularly bright idea at this point. Nor was the former storage room under the stairs which was now Blair’s bedroom an option, since the furniture his Guide had picked out hadn’t been delivered yet. Accordingly, he swung them around in the direction of the couch, intending to gently deposit his Guide there before fetching blankets and a pillow, after which he would tuck him in and stand watch over him for the rest of the night.

However, his Guide had different ideas. Instead of letting himself be placed on the couch, he pulled the Sentinel down with him, then pushed and prodded him into the position he wanted him, all without uttering a word. But the Sentinel could feel the determination radiating from his Guide, and decided it would be easier to humour him until he fell asleep again, then he could be tucked in properly.

With a satisfied sigh, Blair spread himself over his living pillow, snuggling in happily as the afghan from the back of the couch was pulled around him. In the final moments before he tumbled into the abyss of sleep, he managed to lift a hand to touch the dark bruise he’d made on his Sentinel’s throat. “Marked and claimed, Sentinel.”

“Marked and claimed, Guide.”

The Sentinel closed his eyes for a moment, savouring the subtle change to his Guide’s scent that would declare his bonded status to any Sentinel he encountered. The wave of possessiveness that flooded through him as he breathed the changed scent astounded him; he had known from the beginning that he would die to protect the one who lay in his arms, but even that paled in comparison to the fierceness now burning in his blood. Death itself could not break this bond. Something made him open his eyes again.

He looked up to see the panther and the wolf watching him from where they lay on his bed and peered between the railing around his bedroom. “Don’t get too comfortable up there, guys,” he murmured, his eyes sliding shut again without his permission.

The panther made a chuffing sound that was very like a laugh, then curled around the wolf as they settled down to watch over their human counterparts for the night.

******

  
Fact Number Four that had to be faced was the formal acceptance by the Clan of their Senior Guide Prime and Shield.

As Senior Guide Prime, this involved Blair being scented by each Sentinel in the Clan so they could physically track him if that was ever necessary, and theoretically the procedure was simple enough. Each Guide would then touch his mind briefly—not enough to establish a permanent link, but enough to be able to recognize the empathetic touch of their Senior Guide Prime in the future.

In reality, even though Blair knew none of the Sentinels had any designs on him, being scented by them was still intimidating. Edwards went first as the Sentinel Prime of the Clan and in spite of his best intentions, Blair couldn’t help pulling back as the Sentinel leaned in to scent him. That bumped him into Jim, who stood directly behind him and laid reassuring hands on his shoulders.

“It’s all right, Chief, I’m here.”

Blair rested against his Sentinel and forced himself to relax, concentrating on the contact between them to override the input from the others as they briefly scented him and then stepped away. After the Sentinels came the Guides, each placing a hand momentarily against his cheek as their minds brushed; this held no fear for Blair, even though it was more intimate than being scented.

The ritual completed, the Guides acknowledged their new Senior Guide Prime with the bow of respect, while each Sentinel placed a fisted right hand over their heart before bowing their head in their equivalent gesture of respect. Blair returned the bows and straightening up, took a deep breath and motioned Megan forward. A low buzz of speculation filtered through the assembled crowd as she moved to stand next to him. They had all wondered why she was here, but since the Senior Sentinel Prime had sanctioned it, no one had openly objected to her highly unusual presence.

“Sentinels and Guides of the Cascade Clan.” The buzz died away as the Sentinels and Guides gave their new Senior Guide Prime their attention. “The Senior Sentinel Prime is the Protector of the Clan, and the Senior Guide Prime its Justice, but ancient texts also mention another who last came forth two hundred years ago. One who only allies to a Dark Pair.

“The Shield is the Vengeance of the Clan, the one person above all others that the Sentinel and Guide trust to protect and provide for their bond mate if they have to separate for any reason. Sentinel, Guide and Shield stand together as one in battle and in council.” His dark eyes raked over the assembled Sentinels and Guides who had just sworn allegiance to him. “Megan Connor is the Shield and Vengeance of this Clan.”

There was a deathly silence while the Clan contemplated Megan, and as the Guide Prime, David knew his duty. Taking a deep breath, he said carefully, “With all due respect, Senior Guide Prime, how can she be our Shield when she doesn’t even have an empathetic signature?”

“It’s you who don’t see it.” The Dark Guide simmered just below the surface now, angry with the fools who would refuse his Shield because they hadn’t thought to look beyond the obvious. “Those among you who would be true Guides, open your minds and look at your Shield. Look at her and know her for what she really is!”

Each Guide felt the force of his command, and a stir went through them. The air crackled with a sudden burst of psychic energy as each one concentrated on the blank space they’d all assumed meant no empathetic signature, and Megan winced at the barrage of having so many minds focused on her. Jim’s hand on her shoulder and the empathetic support Blair channelled into her helped steady her, until a collective gasp rippled through the room and the onslaught abruptly ended.

A silence while each Guide communicated to their particular Sentinel what they’d discovered, then Blair proclaimed, “Guides and Sentinels of the Cascade Clan, behold your Shield!”

A tad dramatic, perhaps, but then that never hurt when dealing with a group like this. As one, the Guides acknowledged their new Shield with the bow of respect, and in this matter, the Sentinels followed their Guides without question; as one, each Sentinel placed a fisted right hand over their heart before bowing their head. Blair and Megan just had time to exchange a smile before both Guides and Sentinels roared their approval of their new Senior Guide Prime and Shield.

Acceptance by Blair and Jim was one thing, but until this moment, Megan hadn’t truly believed the Clan would also accept her. Her smile widened as she thought of breaking the news to her family that she was now officially acknowledged as the Shield of a Dark Sentinel Clan. Even her sister Gillian, the pride of the Connor family, couldn’t boast of achieving anything remotely equal to that.

She glanced down as a weight leaned against her legs, and laid a hand on the head of her spirit animal. Making that announcement would be a sweet moment for the supposedly untalented child who had been pitied and ignored all her life.

******

 

[ ](http://s71.photobucket.com/user/PattRose1/media/unforseen4_zps8566019d.jpg.html)

  
And so, with the contracts registered at the Institute, the Guide gifts formally presented and the Clan publicly acknowledging both their Senior Guide Prime and their Shield, the big day finally arrived.

“Hey, Simon,” Blair greeted the large captain happily as they met at the doors to the exclusive country club. “This is some place, huh?”

“Sure is,” the large captain agreed as they walked up to the desk where a haughty female guarded the entrance to the sacred interior. “Captain Simon Banks, Cascade P.D., and G.E.P. Commander Blair Sandburg. We’re here for—”

“The bonding ceremony.” The concierge beamed at them, taking years off her face. “Sentinel Ellison is in the Blue Room, down that hallway, last door on the left. Everything is right on schedule for the ceremony, and your guests will be waiting for you in the garden when you’re ready. I’ll be sure to send the rest of the participants down to the Blue Room as soon as they arrive.”

“Thank you.” As they walked down the indicated hallway, Simon asked, “Nervous?”

“I just want to get through this without tripping over my feet and embarrassing myself for the next decade.”

“Yeah, the guys at Major Crimes would never let you hear the end of that one.” Simon chuckled. “I still get reminded about my graduation from the police academy. I tripped right across the platform and almost ended up in the commissioner’s lap.”

“Simon, you’re not helping here. You’re supposed to tell me my feet will behave themselves perfectly for the entire day.”

“Your feet will behave themselves perfectly for the entire day,” he repeated obediently as Blair knocked briefly on the door to the Blue Room before opening it.

The room flip-flopped around him and for a horrible moment he thought he was going to faint, like the heroine of some Victorian melodrama. He watched his Sentinel push Cassandra Welles away from him in slow motion, like it was happening in a movie instead of real life. The man must be saying something because his mouth was moving, but he couldn’t hear anything past the roaring in his ears.

Jim took a step towards him, then the other Guide was in front of him, blocking his advance. Simon pushed past Blair and he was vaguely aware of shouting, then his brain simply gave up and his body took over.

He fled down the hallway and across the lobby, ignoring the startled query from the concierge. Out into the bright sunlight, across the parking lot and into his car, his breath coming in heaving gasps.

Scrabbling the key into the ignition, he cranked over the engine and peeled out of the parking lot, intent on escaping his betrayer as fast as possible.

******

  
Blair found himself standing at his sister’s bedside without any memory of how he’d gotten there. Flopping into the chair next to the bed, he drew his legs up against his chest and wrapped an arm around them. He clasped her cool hand with his free one and laid his forehead against his knees as he shivered. He’d been cold since the day she left—except for the brief time he’d believed he was loved again.

He’d allowed himself to believe he was loved and now he had nothing.

No dissertation. The internal workings of the Cascade Dark Sentinel Clan would be closed to him now, and he’d already cancelled the grant application and the permits required for his research trip to Borneo.

No home. In less than a week, he had to return the key to his apartment because he’d given up the lease to move into the loft. No chance of re-renting, either, because the landlord already had other tenants signed up.

No career. The moment Chancellor Edwards got the news, he’d be finished at the university. Not to mention that she’d use her influence against him at the Institute as well.

He had nothing.

Nothing except a gaping wound where his heart used to be, where his soul now lay in bleeding pieces. How could he still draw breath when just existing hurt so much?

He’d had the chance to get the hell out of Dodge with the grant money clutched in his hot little hand. Instead, he’d been the idiot who’d lingered until the one thing he’d forsworn had somehow become the one thing he wanted more than life itself.

The bitterness of that defeat burned through his veins like a living thing, mocked by the bright sunshine pouring down from the cloudless, deep blue summer sky outside the window. On a day like today, the sky should weep from roiling clouds whipped by arctic winds while lightening slashed to earth from the darkened heavens.

It had also been on a day like today, full of sunshine and promise, when Alex had finally been too tired to fight anymore and slipped into the coma. He’d had a reason to go on living then—to make sure no other ever suffered like she had. What was his reason now?

 _“Jake.”_ The beloved voice echoed clearly in his head, and the first tear slipped from his closed eyes.

_“Jake.”_

_**“Jake!”**_ This time her voice held the ‘this-is-your-big-sister-speaking’ tone that meant non-compliance simply wasn’t an option. And just as he had when she was whole, he responded automatically to that tone. He lifted his face from his knees and...

**... _this time, it wasn’t the usual ocean. Instead, it was like watching the world through a dark blue filter. In a jungle clearing, he stood at the bottom of a flight of stone steps that led to a looming edifice covered in vines and creepers. Around him, the calls of birds and monkeys, the rustle of leaves in the light breeze, the humid air damp against his skin._**

_**“Jake.”** _

_**He saw her at the top of the stairs, glowing in a golden light. Without conscious thought, his legs hurtled him up the steps into her arms. Nothing could hurt him while his big sister was there; she would march through the gates of hell and spit in the devil’s eye to keep him safe.** _

_**She caught him to her, then drew him down to sit with her on the top step. Instinctively, he twisted to curl around her body the way he had in childhood, his head in her lap and his face pressed into her stomach. She held him fiercely, rocking him like his mother never had, murmuring meaningless words of comfort as the sobs shook him.** _

_**When he finally stopped crying, she produced a white handkerchief. As she had in his childhood, she tenderly wiped his face dry before holding the cloth to his nose. “Blow.”** _

_**And as he had in childhood, he obediently blew. “I didn’t know they had hankies in the spirit world.”** _

_**She returned it to her pocket, and gently stroked his hair. “I’m the big sister. It’s my job to have a hanky whatever world I’m in.”** _

_**“What happened to the ocean?”** _

_**“This is the spirit plane where your Sentinel comes.”** _

_**Fresh pain stabbed through Blair. “He’s not mine.”** _

_**“So you’re just going to give him up without a fight?”** _

_**“He doesn’t want me anymore.”** _

_**“Screw what he wants. What do you want?”** _

_**“It doesn’t matter.”** _

_**“Jake, do you want this Sentinel or not?”** _

_**“Yes! I want him, all right?”** _

_**“Then start acting like it.” She helped him into a sitting position, but kept a comforting arm around his shoulder. ”Invoke the Rite of Retribution and show what will happen to any who think to steal your Sentinel.”** _

_**“Alex—”** _

_**“No, listen to me. James is strong, even for a Dark Sentinel. That’s a very powerful attraction to more than a vain, foolish one who sells her talent for ambition. If you don’t make an example of this Guide now, the others who lurk in the shadows will think they have nothing to fear.”** _

_**A low, growling sound caught his attention, and he looked down at the bottom of the stairs. The black panther stood there, his back to the steps, growling at the shadowy shapes prowling in a semi-circle in front of him. The shadows all had red, glowing eyes and bared their fangs at the panther.** _

_**A weight against his thigh made him look down. He saw his spirit guide resting its head there, watching him with blue eyes that seemed to hold the secrets of the ancients.** _

_**His spirit guide had come to support him in claiming back what was his. The hard knot of misery in his chest dissolved, replaced by a slow-burning, righteous fire. James belonged to him, claimed by all Sentinel and Guide laws, and no other could have him.** _

_**He leapt to his feet and charged down the steps towards the interlopers, screaming his defiance at their presumption in approaching what was his alone. The wolf bounded along at his side and the red-eyed shapes scattered from the combined onslaught.** _

_**Human and wolf claimed a place on each side of the panther when they reached the bottom of the steps. The wolf howled its own defiance at the vanished shapes as Blair closed his eyes and raised his face to the sun, his voice ringing through the clearing in triumph.** _

_**“MINE!”** _

...When he opened his eyes, he found himself back at his sister’s bedside. Something nudged his leg, and he glanced down to see the wolf sitting next to him. Something had changed inside him while he was on the spirit plane, and all his doubts and fears were gone.

He had a plan. He had no idea where it had come from, but one thing was a rock solid certainty. By the time the day was over, his errant Sentinel would know without a doubt to whom he belonged body and soul, and no other Guide would dare try to take what was his ever again.

******

  
The wolf trotted beside Blair as he walked through the hospice, a comforting presence invisible to everyone else. Thankfully the Volvo, which he’d forgotten to lock in his misery, still sat in the parking lot. He opened the door and the wolf jumped in, settling comfortably on the front passenger seat. Climbing into the driver’s seat, Blair scrabbled through his backpack until he found the cell phone he needed to make the calls that would put his plan into action.

He opened his phone, and blinked at the number of voice mails the screen informed him he’d missed. He debated whether or not to check the messages; he was impatient to begin his plan, but it might be to his strategic advantage to hear what everyone had to say before he started.

The first call was from his Sentinel.

 _“Blair, it’s me.”_ Pause. _“It wasn’t what it looked like, okay? She said she just wanted to leave a gift and say good luck and all that stuff, then the next thing I know, she’s grabbed me and I didn’t know how to make her let go without punching her out, but hitting a woman isn’t good, not to mention the whole Sentinel protects the Guide thing, but if that’s what it took to get her off me, I swear I would have, only you came in before I could, and I’m so sorry.”_ Pause. _“Call me when you get this, okay? Please just call me so we can talk and make this right.”_ Pause. _“Please.”_ Click.

Shaking his head at the run-on sentence, which Jim had apparently uttered without stopping for breath, Blair glanced at the wolf and found his own amusement reflected there. The normally unflappable Sentinel, who faced armed criminals and other assorted madness on a daily basis without a quiver, had sounded definitely flapped. Good. Time to put Part One of his plan into action.

He pressed the speed dial for Jim’s cell phone and waited, knowing Caller ID would announce him.

_“Blair, is that really you?”_

“I got your message. Be at my apartment in ninety minutes, and we’ll talk.” He hung up abruptly, and the wolf panted in approval. Let the Sentinel know who was calling the shots right from the start.

The next voice mail was from David Sutherland. _“Blair, it’s David. I just wanted to make sure you’re all right. If there’s anything I can do to help, you know where to find me.”_

David picked up his phone on the first ring. _“Blair, are you all right?”_

“Yeah, I’m fine. I need you to do something for me.”

_“Name it.”_

“Call the Clan Guides together, then locate and hold Guide Cassandra Welles for the Rite of Retribution.”

 _“Consider it done.”_ There was grim satisfaction in David’s normally friendly voice. _“I’ll call you as soon as she’s contained.”_

The third message was from Megan. _“Sandy, it’s me. If you want help breaking both Ellison’s legs, let me know and I’ll bring the sledgehammer right over. It’s the least the bastard deserves. Anyway, ring me when you can, mate.”_

Blair dialled her number and winced at her loud exclamation. _“Sandy! Are you all right?”_

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said for the second time in as many minutes. “I need you to do something for me.”

_“Getting the sledgehammer as we speak.”_

“Shield, you may not break my Sentinel’s legs.”

 _“Why not?”_ The question was a definite whine. _“Vengeance is in the Shield job description, and I want my share.”_

“And you’ll get it. Just not with the leg breaking.”

 _“Then how?”_ He told her and she laughed. _“Oh, yeah, I can do that. Not as good as the sledgehammer, but doable all the same.”_

Blair checked the rest of his voice mail after that. He was surprised to find messages of support from Simon Banks and William Ellison, both of whom he would have expected to be firmly on Jim’s side in this debacle. Part of him felt like he should return their calls and put them out of their misery, but the new, darker Blair didn’t have time for such niceties. He had a Sentinel to reclaim, and everything else would just have to wait.

 

******

  
Part One of the Master Plan For Reclaiming His Wayward Sentinel began an hour and a half after Blair walked out of the hospice. Right on time, the doorbell rang at his almost vacated apartment, and he paused a moment to make sure the dark emotions driving him were firmly locked down. For this to work, he needed to project the calm, reasonable aura of a man ready to listen and take part in dialogue, not that of a royally peeved Guide intending to mark and claim his Sentinel down to the bone.

With a final check that the wolf was safely out of sight under the bed, Blair opened the door. He didn’t need hyper-senses to realize the Sentinel was nervous, and the darkness stirred, pleased to know he could invoke that reaction.

“Thanks for seeing me.”

Blair stood back to let him enter. “I’ll get us a beer and we can talk.”

“Okay.” He pulled a couple of bottles out of the fridge, then gave an exclamation of disgust as one slipped from his grasp to shatter on the kitchen floor.

“Chief?” The Sentinel was at his side in an instant.

“It’s nothing, I’ll have it cleaned up in a minute.” He handed Jim the intact bottle, fetching the dustpan and brush for the glass fragments, and a roll of paper towels for the spilled beer.

“Here, let me do that.” Jim placed his beer on the kitchen counter and took the dustpan from him. “Sentinel sight is a definite advantage right now.”

As he squatted down and began picking up the glass fragments, Blair joined him in tossing the larger fragments into the dustpan. “Careful you don’t cut yourself.”

“No, I’m fi—ouch!” With a small cry of pain, Blair dropped the glass and sucked his finger. “Guess I’m not fine.”

A large hand reached for his. “Let me see that.”

“No need, the first aid kit is still here.”

Blair left his Sentinel cleaning up the mess and disappeared into the bathroom. He might as well let his kitchen floor be cleaned up properly before he put his plan into action.

For the sake of appearances, he got the first aid kit out and rummaged in it for a Band Aid and the tweezers. No point in taking a chance on Mr. Super-Hearing out there realizing the appropriate noises weren’t happening in the bathroom. For the first time in his life, he gave thanks for being a good bleeder; he needed blood for this to be convincing, and his high flow rate meant he’d been able to make the cut small with good results.

“James, I think there’s some glass in my cut,” he announced as he came back into the living area, carrying the tweezers and Band-Aid. “Can you look at it for me when you’re done there?”

“Sure.” With every sliver of glass and every drop of beer safely disposed of, Jim sat at the dining table next to Blair. The Guide gave Jim the tweezers and allowed him to take his hand. Jim cradled it gently as he dialled up his sight, looking for the glass shard that wasn’t really there.

Blair didn’t have time to feel guilty about that deception because he was too busy fighting the effects of being next to his Sentinel. They sat so close he could feel the warmth from the other’s body as he breathed in the scent of the man. Tiny sparks skittered over the back of his hand where it lay in Jim’s palm and where Jim’s thumb rubbed absently along the edge of Blair’s hand. And even after all his years of experience with Sentinels, Blair felt the fascination anew as he watched the eyes of his own particular Sentinel, the pupils expanding until they were barely ringed in light blue as he concentrated on the cut.

Blood still welled sluggishly from the slashed skin, and Jim’s nose flared as he caught the coppery scent. Riding on that scent, his hearing expanded without conscious thought to catalogue the swish of that vital fluid travelling through veins and arteries.

A drop of blood ran slowly down to Blair’s fingertip, mesmerizing the Sentinel, focusing his attention until he could almost see the individual cells that made up the dark red liquid. Tiny little circles that carried life-giving oxygen around the beloved body, through heart and lungs, out to fingers and toes, regenerating cells...

**_...In the blue jungle clearing, the Sentinel once again sat on the bottom step of the flight of stairs leading to the looming stone building covered in creepers and vines._ **

**_His black panther spirit guide leaned companionably against his legs as he played with the big cat’s ears, watching the brightly collared birds swoop and twirl across the clearing in front of them._ **

**_Some part of him knew he’d been here a number of times, but this time something was different. Previously, he’d just waited, not knowing whether he would ever be able to leave this jungle clearing, not even sure that he wanted to leave. But this time, he knew he was only waiting to be called back._ **

**_And there it was, the scent and voice that meant he was going home again. He rose to his feet, and obediently followed them across the clearing to the edge of the jungle, the panther stalking along beside him. This time he didn’t hesitate before pushing through the trees into the darkness, then he opened eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed and..._ **

...looked into the eyes of his one true Guide. Something ancient and primitive looked back at him from the blue depths, and he knew the Dark Guide was in control.

Gentle fingertips, at odds with those fierce eyes, stroked his cheek, distracting him. “How are your senses?”

“Everything’s fine.” A movement caught in the corner of his eye made him turn his head. His panther and his Guide’s wolf rested their heads on the edge of the mattress, looking at him with what could only be described as accusing eyes. “Hi, guys.”

The panther made a disappointed chuffing noise, then he and the wolf walked away. Before Jim could comment on that, memory of what he’d been doing before he zoned came flooding back. “Your cut—did I get the glass out?”

“There wasn’t any glass.” Blair lifted a neatly Band-Aided finger for his inspection. “I just used that to push you into a controlled zone.”

“What?” Betrayal stung through him. “Why?”

“Because it was safer than drugging you.”

The answer was given in such a matter of fact tone that, for a moment, Jim thought he’d misheard. “And you considered drugging me because?”

“You’re a Dark Sentinel who’s five inches taller and sixty pounds heavier than I am. Not to mention all that hundred-and-five-ways-to-kill-with-a-blunt-fingernail-covert-ops-type-stuff you know.”

“Blair, I would never hurt—” He tried to sit up as he spoke, but his sentence broke off as he realized his arms were raised above his head and refusing to move. Twisting his head to look upwards, he discovered handcuffs looped through the sturdy rail of the headboard now secured his wrists. “Are those my handcuffs?”

“Yup. Good karmic justice there, don’t you think?”

“My own handcuffs.” Jim knew there were much more pressing issues to deal with here—like his Guide deliberately zoning him, then tying him down while he was out of it—but somehow he couldn’t seem to get past that little piece of trivia. “You used my own handcuffs against me!”

“Get over it,” Blair snarled, suddenly nose-to-nose with him as he leaned across his chest to grip each side of his shirt collar. “You were with another Guide on our Bonding Day!”

“I told you in the voice mail, she ambushed me.”

“And I told you there would only ever be one get out of jail free card for you.” Blair shifted a hand to grip his hair. “You’d kill any Sentinel who tried to claim me, and then you’d make damn sure I still knew who I belonged to. So don’t you **dare** get hissy with me for doing the same thing to you!”

While Jim could appreciate Blair’s point of view, the Dark Sentinel did not and snarled back, “I’ll give you hissy when I get out of these cuffs!”

“That won’t be before I’ve had time to deal with your little friend,” his unrepentant Guide retorted, tugging his head back to expose his throat. “Be a good Sentinel until then, and I just might let you go when I get back.”

Before Jim could form a coherent response to that impertinence, teeth scraped down the column of his neck. Tiny sparks of pleasure-pain tingled in their wake as the same dark edge he’d seen earlier in his Guide’s eyes surged through the emotions that now swirled into the Sentinel.

Hurt.

Anger.

Need.

**Mine!**

The Sentinel responded instinctively to the strength of that claim, rubbing his jaw against the curls tucked under it. He pressed into the warmth of his Guide where Blair sprawled over his chest, and his shirt collar was pulled aside to access the curve where his neck and shoulder met. A gasp escaped him as his Guide suddenly bit down hard, growling under his breath as he worried at the skin, marking his Sentinel and reinforcing his ownership.

Blair lifted a flushed face from the curve of his neck and growled, “Marked and claimed, Sentinel.”

“Marked and claimed, Guide.” As he gave the traditional response, Jim felt some of the tension seep out of his Guide. Then the wolf barked, and a moment later a knock sounded at the door.

With a final nuzzle at his throat, his Guide rolled to his feet, sucked in and expelled several deep breaths to centre himself, and answered the door. Connor stepped inside, and the Tasmanian tiger came with her. She looked quickly around the apartment as the wolf and panther came forward to greet her spirit animal, and Jim’s face burned as her brows rose at the sight of him handcuffed to the bed. Before he could say anything, his Guide took hold of both her wrist and her attention and they silently communicated for several minutes. She glanced at Jim once during that time, an odd expression on her face, then she looked back at his Guide and nodded.

When they had finished communing, Blair moved to the coat rack while Connor patted the wolf. He shrugged into his jacket and said, “The Watch is yours.”

She inclined her head in a small bow. “Until your return, the Watch is taken.”

It took Jim a moment to realize what that meant, and indignation flooded him again. His Guide had tied him up and was now leaving Connor to babysit him like he was a naughty child!

“Expecting company?” he asked sarcastically as Connor closed the door behind Blair and the wolf, then turned the locks.

“No,” she replied seriously, snicking the chain into place. “But you never can tell, and I promised Sandy I’d keep you safe.”

“Then keep me safe by taking the cuffs off.”

“Yeah, right, we’re in imminent danger here.” Ostentatiously placing her gun, her handcuffs, and most importantly, the keys to her handcuffs on the dining table where his own gun and keys were well and truly out of reach, Connor came to stand next to the bed. The panther and the tiger wandered over to sit next to her, and she rubbed their heads absently as she surveyed him thoughtfully for a long moment.

“Nice shirt,” she finally said.

It was an innocent enough comment, but something in the tone put him on edge. He glanced down at his shirt, registering for the first time the one he’d been wearing earlier was gone. In its place was the oversized plaid shirt Blair had worn the day before, marking him both visually and with scent as belonging to his Guide. And judging by the smirk on her face, Connor obviously understood the implications of that.

He scowled at her, and announced without any real hope of it getting him free, “I have to use the bathroom.”

The smirk became a fully fledged grin. “You’ve got two choices, mate. Hold it in, or I’ll hold the plastic bottle for you.”

“Let me out of these cuffs now, and you might just get out of this in one piece.”

The grin disappeared abruptly at the growled threat. “Sandy made me promise not to hurt you, Ellison, but I can still shove a gag in your mouth and wrap you up in a ball with duct tape.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I’m his Shield and his Vengeance, you son of a bachelor. You don’t want to find out what I’d dare right now.”

He looked at her grim face and wisely decided discretion was the better part of valour.

******

  
Part Two of the Master Plan took place at one of Cascade's most expensive hotels.

The luxury suite was crowded with Guides from the Cascade Clan when Blair entered. The Guide who opened the door for him instinctively moved back to put some distance between herself and the raw power swirling about him. The other Clan Guides all felt their breath hitch as they caught the intense empathetic signature their usually shielded Senior Guide Prime was currently broadcasting. The wolf at his side didn’t escape their notice, either.

The only one who didn’t seem to notice either the signature or the wolf was the errant Guide who was the cause of them being gathered there. Cassandra Welles sat in an over-stuffed armchair, looking both peeved and bored, and a Clan Guide stood guard on either side of her.

“On your feet, Guide Welles,” David instructed.

“For that?” she sneered, with a contemptuous flick of her hand in Blair’s direction. “I don’t think so.”

A startled squeak escaped her as the Guide on each side hauled her none too gently to her feet and pushed her into the centre of the room. The wolf snarled at her, showing his teeth.

“Get your hands off me,” she snapped. “I’ll have the lot of you censured for this.”

“Guide Prime of the Cascade Clan.”   Ignoring her, Blair turned to his second-in-command as he made the ritual announcement. “I invoke the Rite of Retribution against the one who would steal my Sentinel.”  
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               David led the Clan Guides in a communal bow of respect. “Senior Guide Prime, the Guides of the Cascade Clan are gathered to witness the Rite.”

Blair returned the bow. “So be it.”

“What a crock,” Cassandra snorted. “All that mumbo jumbo went out with the Ark.”

“Unfortunately for you, the rest of us aren’t as ‘enlightened’ as you seem to be.” The sarcasm was cutting.

“You’re a commander in the—”

“You see me wearing any G.E.P. patches, little girl?” Blair demanded, getting in her face. “This is just between me and the filch who tried to take my Sentinel.”

Her cheeks flushed at the rude name. “How dare you call me that!”

“Because that’s what you are.” He gave her a feral smile. “Do you remember enough Guide Law to know what the penalty is for violating a bond?”

“In your dreams,” she retorted, arrogantly. “My father has more than enough influence to make sure the Council won’t censure me.”

“If you’d made a public challenge under Council rule, then the judgement would be theirs,” David agreed. “Instead, you tried to steal a bonded Sentinel, and that makes retribution Clan business.”

“In your dreams,” she repeated. “My father—”

“Has no claim in Clan business,” he interrupted. “Guide Cassandra Welles, you have violated Senior Guide Prime Blair Sandburg’s bond with his one true Sentinel. Your punishment is in his hands.”

“This is ridiculous!” she burst out, a thread of fear in her voice for the first time. “I demand—”

“You’re not in a position to demand anything, little girl.” Blair stroked her cheek with a fingertip, then without warning, slapped that same cheek, hard. With a cry of pain and disbelief, she pressed a hand to her stinging face. “In ancient times, a Guide would kill anyone who tried to take his Sentinel. Such a pity that custom died out, but the Law was never actually changed, you know. We could always start the revival with you.”

Cassandra looked at the set faces of the other Guides around the room, and realized none of them saw anything ludicrous in what he’d just said. For the first time in her life, it dawned on her that her actions might have consequences her father’s influence couldn’t save her from.

“Y-You can’t!” she managed to get out as she instinctively backed away.

“I’m a Level Twelve empath and the Senior Guide Prime of the Cascade Clan and the Northwest Territories.” Blair followed her, crowding her into a corner. “I can pretty much do anything I want.”

“I-I’ll pay you—” Her voice suddenly choked off as he closed a hand around her throat and squeezed tightly enough to make breathing difficult.

“My honour is not for sale!” Blair felt the fury roll through him and knew the Dark Guide was now fully in control. “Stupid little girl, daddy’s money won’t save you now.”

The Dark Guide didn’t even try to be gentle. Instead, he simply let his mind hurtle through hers, surging along empathetic pathways that burned out in his wake. She managed to find the breath to scream at the agony tearing through her head, but he ignored that, keeping his eyes locked on her terrified ones as he leaned in closer to hiss,

“This won’t kill you, stupid little girl. You’ll just wish it had.”

When he finally let her go, she crumpled at his feet in an unconscious heap. He looked down at her without compassion, then he threw back his head and let out a roar of triumph that reverberate around the room. It was echoed by the howl of the wolf; and when Blair turned to face the Guides of his Clan, they each recognized that a Dark Guide looked back at them.

“The Retribution is complete,” the Dark Guide intoned. “The usurper may live to remind others of the penalty for trying to take what is mine alone.”

“Senior Sentinel Prime James Joseph Ellison is yours, marked and claimed,” David answered, and gave the bow of respect. “Honoured is your bond.”

“Yours, marked and claimed,” the other Guides echoed and bowed. “Honoured is your bond.”

The Dark Guide was pleased, and allowed a small smile to curve his lips as he returned the bow.

******

  
Blair had a problem. It was time for Part Three of the Master Plan, but this had always been vague in his mind; his concentration had been centered on securing his Sentinel and vanquishing his rival. Now that both had been done, he needed to decide his next move, and the burning inside his skull wasn’t helping his thought processes any.

He knew the migraine-level headache was a result of empathetic backlash from burning out the rival Guide. As the empathetic pathways died, the emotions of the empath being stripped flowed into the one doing the burn out. Although being burned out could never be anything other than a very unpleasant experience for the empath being stripped of his or her talent, this gave an added incentive to the basic humanitarian responsibility of not inflicting unnecessary pain during the procedure.

In some way no scientist could yet explain, any emotion experienced by the empath doing the burning was also reflected back on that person at a magnified level. This was why, when a burnout was carried out under a G.E.P. order, it was performed under calm, controlled conditions by at least three empathy. Multiple burners spread any backlash between all the minds involved, and dissipated it down to a level where a short-lived discomfort was the most a burner would experience.

This was a well-established procedure in place for valid reasons, and totally opposite to what he’d just done. In his rage, he’d deliberately inflicted the maximum amount of pain and terror possible, and now the backlash pounding at him might prove to be more than he could handle. _Hoist by my own petard._

He was shivering uncontrollably by the time he made it back to his apartment building. It took all his energy just to climb out of the car, and he leaned wearily against the door as he tried to convince himself he could make it up the stairs to the safety of his apartment. He closed his eyes against the pain suddenly spiking through his head, then jumped as a familiar voice spoke his name.

“Sandy?”

He managed to crack his eyelids open to a welcome sight. “Megs?”

“In person.” She laid a hand against his cheek, and her face went white as she felt the backlash churning through him. It frightened her even more that she had to push to find their link; that something which had always been clear and readily available was now blurred and wavering only compounded her fear.

The information she received through the battered link took concentration to decipher, but enough filtered through the maelstrom for her to understand what had happened. “You bloody idiot!”

“That’s me,” he agreed, wishing his head would just get on with imploding and put him out of his misery.

“Come on.” She pulled his arm over her shoulder and wrapped her own arm around his waist, helping him to stay upright as they staggered towards the building. “I thought Ellison was kidding when he said you were down here and in trouble. Looks like I don’t get to break his legs for lying to me after all.”

“You’ve got...to get over...this fixation...with breaking his legs,” Blair panted as they hauled themselves up the stairs.

“After the stunt you just pulled, you should start worrying about your own legs,” she retorted grimly, then shut up to concentrate on getting him safely to the top.

Breathing heavily from the effort of getting him to the apartment, Megan leaned Blair against the wall next to the door. She had to hold him upright with a hand pressed against his chest while she inserted the key in the one lock she’d engaged as a precaution on her way out. Retrieving the keys, she pushed the door open, collected him from the wall and manoeuvred them both into the apartment.

“What’s wrong with him?” Ellison demanded anxiously.

“Empathetic overload from burning out the other Guide.” She kicked the door shut behind them, and heaved the almost dead weight towards the bed. “Shove over. He’s going to need as much help as we can give him to siphon off the inherited emotions.”

Obediently, he shoved over until he was against the wall. “You can uncuff me now, you know. I’m not about to leave Blair.”

“I know.” She dropped the apartment keys on the night table and grunted with the effort of depositing Blair onto the bed in a sitting position. Next she lowered him onto his back and swung his feet up onto the bed, before rolling him onto his side so he pressed up against the other man. Instinct kicked in and the basically unconscious Guide plastered himself over his Sentinel, wrapping arms and legs around him, pressing his face into the curve of his neck as he began to make small, distressed noises.

“Connor, his mind is like a thunderstorm. I can barely find our link.”

“I know,” Megan repeated. She hustled over to the dining table and returned to the bed with the handcuff keys, reaching over to free the Sentinel’s hands. “The pain will only get worse if we don’t get some of that overload siphoned off right away.”

He lowered his arms, rolling his shoulders to ease their stiffness as he wrapped his arms tightly around his Guide, pulling him so close it was almost impossible to tell where one began and the other ended. “What should I do?”

“Exactly what you’re doing.” She moved back to the door to set the locks and snick on the chain, ensuring the room would remain secure while they concentrated on helping Blair. “Sandy needs as much physical contact and empathetic support as we can give him. A three-way link is our best chance of helping him."

_Damn, where did that come from? And how can I be so sure this is the right thing to do here?_

_Because I am, that’s how. I’m his Shield, for crying out loud, so it’s time to stop dithering and **be** his Shield._

“When we did this before, it was through Sandy,” she continued as she crossed the room again. “But right now that’s more than he can handle. You and I will have to link first, then we’ll reach Sandy together.”

“All right.” But although Ellison’s mouth gave agreement because this was best for his Guide, in the back of his eyes lurked a Sentinel unhappy with linking to any but his chosen one.

 _Okay, time for the magic words_. “Your Guide, marked and claimed. Honoured is your bond.”

“Honoured is my bond,” he returned, and the Sentinel relaxed.

She kicked off her sandals, reflecting it was fortunate that the response to a Sentinel ritual was almost genetically programmed into them. A movement in the corner of the bed alcove caught her attention, and the panther and the Tasmanian tiger looked steadily back at her from where they lay curled protectively around the shivering wolf.

Megan acknowledged the spirit animals with a brief nod, relieved that the Sentinel and Shield counterparts were supporting the wolf; she could use all the help she could get with this. Lying down on the bed, she spooned up behind Blair so their bodies touched as much as possible, then she draped an arm over him to grip Ellison’s shoulder, completing the circuit between the three of them. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

 _Man, I’m so glad Sandy made us practice linking. Turning it into a three-way link is scary enough without having to worry about what I’m doing with Ellison as well._ Closing her eyes, Megan sent a brief prayer heavenwards that she actually knew what she was doing and reached out towards the Sentinel with her mind.

 

******

  
It was almost dark when Megan straggled back to awareness. The link between the three of them glowed in her mind, her own dark purple strands wrapped around and supporting the entwined red and gold cord of the Sentinel-Guide bond. The maelstrom was gone, leaving behind a calm that was a little ragged around the edges, but definitely intact.

 _Cool bananas._ The childhood expression floated dreamily through her mind. _We did it!_

“Connor?”

Her name was spoken softly, but the unexpected voice in the gloom made her jump. “Yeah?”

“Can you take Blair for a moment? I really, **really** need to go to the bathroom.”

“Sure.” She suppressed a chuckle as the Guide was rolled into her arms and Ellison scrambled hurriedly off the bed. Blair made a discontented noise at the loss of Sentinel contact, but she boosted their link and soothed him with hands and voice until Ellison returned from the bathroom.

He left the door open and the light on to help her non-Sentinel eyes cope with the falling darkness, an unexpected consideration. Climbing back over the end of the bed, he settled himself again, then gently but firmly reclaimed his Guide. Her lips twitched in a faint smile as Blair shifted until he was in exactly the same position as he’d been before the bathroom run. She carefully closed her link with them and sat up. “You need to stay in close contact with him until morning. He should be fully stabilized by then.”

“How do you know all this stuff?”

She hesitated on the verge of a flip answer, instinct warning her that would be a mistake. Working together to help Blair had changed something between herself and the Sentinel; she wasn’t sure what, but she suddenly understood very clearly that if she didn’t make a leap of faith now, then that gain would be lost.

“Part of it comes from growing up in a family of highly-rated empathy,” she finally answered as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “Some of it comes from hanging out with Sandy. The rest of it I just—know, like it’s something I learned a long time ago but somehow forget until I needed it.”

“Like it’s a Shield thing.”

“Yeah.” There had been no mockery in his tone, and the defensive tightness between her shoulder blades eased. _And the truth shall set you free._

Now that she was on her feet, her bladder suddenly made an urgent demand of its own.

 

******

  
Business taken care of, she peered in the bathroom mirror as she washed her hands and grimaced. It had been a looong day, and she could definitely hear her bathtub at home calling her to come and soak in bubbled and scented splendour.

Emerging from the bathroom, it suddenly dawned on her that there was one more Shield duty she needed to perform. She wandered into the kitchen and checked out the contents of the fridge and cupboards. As she had suspected, not a thing on any of the shelves because Blair had expected to be at the loft from tonight onwards. This would not do at all.

She picked up her gun, handcuffs and keys from the dining table and restored them to their usual places on her person. Twenty minutes later, a plate of small triangular sandwiches from the corner deli stood on the night table next to the bed, along with a large glass of orange juice to give sustenance to a weary Sentinel. More sandwiches and juice resided in the fridge for Blair when he woke up, and Megan gave a nod of satisfaction at her foresight. Her work here was done.

“I’ll let Captain Banks and your father know you’re both all right, and that you’ll be in contact with them some time tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Megan. For everything you did, not just calling Dad and Simon. I’d have been a panicking mess without your help.”

She blinked, both at the use of her given name and in surprise at the warm glow his praise gave her. “You’re welcome, Jim. I’ll bring breakfast over in the morning and make sure everything’s back to normal.”

“I guess Shields have the same mother hen genes as Sentinels and Guides.”

She laughed. “I guess we do.”

“See you in the morning, Shield.”

“Will do, Sentinel.”

******

  
It was almost two a.m. when Blair finally surfaced. Jim knew the moment he began drifting towards wakefulness, even though he himself was sleeping. Before dozing off, he had woven a sensory net about his Guide, and the change in his breathing pattern was enough to wake the Sentinel.

“James?”

“Right here, Chief. How are you feeling?”

“Hungry.”

“Bathroom?”

“Oh, yeah.” Blair wasn’t surprised when his Sentinel helped him carefully to his feet and escorted him across the room with a hand under one elbow for support. Jim coming right into the bathroom with him was a bit unexpected, though. “Uh, James, I’ve been going to the bathroom by myself for a while now.”

“I know,” he retorted, and stayed exactly where he was.

“Could you at least turn around? I mean, heaven only knows I’ll never have any real privacy ever again with a Sentinel in the house, but I’d like to at least preserve the illusion a little.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.”

Blair rolled his eyes at the now-closed bathroom door, and quickly took care of business. After washing his hands, he opened the door and was again not surprised to find Jim hovering there. “Relax, tough guy. I’m fine.”

However, he was escorted firmly back towards the bed. “You scared the hell out of me today, Chief. If Megan hadn’t been here, I wouldn’t have known how to help you.”

“I...overloaded, didn’t I?” He allowed the Sentinel to situate him on the bed while he sorted through the blurry images drifting through his mind. “And you...and Megs...saved me.”

“Yeah. Did you really burn out that other Guide?” Jim asked as he went into the kitchen to get the sandwiches and orange juice Megan had provided.

“I did, but I was just so damn angry I forgot that any emotion I felt at the time would bounce back on me in the burnout. She was so contemptuous of Guide Law, so sure daddy’s influence would protect her from any consequences, and when she offered me money to forget what she’d done, it was the last straw.” He shivered at the memory, and said quietly, “I terrified her, then I hurt her, and I meant to do both. It serves me right that I overloaded.”

Jim placed the food and drink on the night table and sat on the edge of the bed, taking both of Blair’s cold hands in his own. “We are what we are, and the Dark Guide is part of you just like the Dark Sentinel is part of me. They give us the strength to do what has to be done when we can’t do it by ourselves.”

“I didn’t have to do it like that.”

“You needed to make sure no one would try to steal me again. I’d say today’s little demonstration will take care of that in a big way.”

Blair nodded, and leaned forward to press his face into the curve of Jim’s neck. The Sentinel wrapped his arms around his Guide, and they sat without speaking for several minutes before Blair admitted,

“I knew as soon as I heard your voice mail you hadn’t done anything wrong. I just needed to...”

“Vent a little?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. I like being owned by a Guide who’ll do whatever it takes to keep me.”

Blair chuckled. “I’ll remind you of that next time I borrow your handcuffs.”

“Chief, now would be a good time to remember you’re talking to the guy who knows all that hundred-and-five-ways-to-kill-with-a-blunt-fingernail-cover-ops-type-stuff.” Before he could reply, Blair’s stomach rumbled loudly and Jim added, “I think that’s a hint your stomach wants you to eat.”

“Ya think?” Blair sat back in anticipation. “So, what did you get me?”

“Actually, Megan got sandwiches and juice from the corner deli before she left.”

“I knew I kept her around for a reason.”

“Other than the treats and the rescuing you from overloading thing, you mean.”

“Yeah, other than that.” He reached eagerly for a triangle of sandwich. “What?” he added plaintively as the food was moved out of his reach.

Instead of answering, Jim simply held a sandwich up to his mouth, and Blair immediately recognized the move as part of the Sentinel Mother Hen From Hell repertoire.

 _The Sentinel feeds the Guide. Okay, I can do this._ Obediently, he opened his mouth and took a bite of the offered food, letting his Sentinel pamper him as a silent apology for the fright he’d been given.

“When we’re done here, you need to get some more sleep,” Jim instructed. “After all, once the sun comes up, we have a bonding ceremony to reschedule.”

******

  
In a Canadian prison cell, a hard-faced woman with short red hair laid out on her bunk the three pages of newspaper her visitor had brought her.

The pages came from two separate editions of the Cascade Times society section. The first was a full-page interview with Guide Enforcement Programme Commander Blair Jacob Sandburg, the chosen Guide of Detective James Joseph Ellison, the Senior Sentinel Prime of the Northwest Territories. The interview covered his abusive childhood and his mother’s current incarceration; how what had happened to his Sentinel sister had led to his work with the Guide Enforcement Programme; his determination that work would continue even while he wrote his doctorate thesis on his Sentinel’s clan and assisted said Sentinel in his police work. It was a sympathetic article that admitted all the facts without any trace of hysteria, and led the readers gently to the conclusion that it took a special person to rise above the events of his early life in this way.

The other two pages were a double-spread report of the bonding ceremony between the Guide and his Sentinel. It alluded briefly to the ceremony needing to be rescheduled due to a rogue Guide attempting to claim the Sentinel for herself on the original day, and that the rogue had suffered empathetic burnout in the resulting confrontation with the chosen Guide.

The report supplied coloured photos of the Sentinel-Guide pair and their guests, along with details of the lavish party that had celebrated the event. The Guide had been escorted into the ceremony by his close friend Megan Connor, the first Shield in two hundred years; a couple of sentences explained what a Shield was before moving on to the guest list. It ranged the gamut of the social scale from lowly police officers on up to the elite of Cascade, with the Sentinel’s father, William Ellison, given prominent space as the wealthy host of the party.

One of the photos was a close-up of the bonded pair taken just after the ceremony ended. She hadn’t seen her son in fifteen years, but there was no mistaking those big blue eyes or that full mouth. Stroking a fingertip gently over the widely smiling face of her only child, she murmured a soft litany of hate to the photograph.

“Be happy while you can, baby, ’cause Mama’s found you now. When I get my hands on the pair of you, you and your vege ‘sister’ will pay in blood for betraying me. So be happy while you can, ’cause Mama’s found you now... ”

THE END

(For now, anyway. Bonus points to anyone who spots the ‘Going Postal’ reference in the story—and no, Alex getting a copy of the book for her birthday doesn’t count.)

Please keep the FeedBack Monster happy by letting [Arnaa](mailto:arnaa2206@gmail.com) know what you thought of this story.


End file.
